Benediction
by Surreysmum
Summary: Aragorn is in grave danger, and Arwen thinks Legolas may be her only hope of saving him. Pairings are Aragorn/Arwen; Aragorn/Legolas.
1. Chapter 1

Benediction

**Part 1**

"What makes you so pensive, my husband?" Arwen reached over to the other pillow and stroked the tousled hair on the back of Aragorn's head.

Aragorn sighed slightly. Of course he couldn't fool her that he was asleep. When had he ever been able to deceive Arwen about anything? Not that he usually tried to; only when it was important for her own peace of mind.

This was important for her peace of mind. He turned over and managed a smile for the lady of his house, the mother of his children, the woman who was so nearly his soulmate as made no difference. As made no difference…

"I am not sure, my lady," he replied. "I am restless. Too many council meetings. Too many Halls of Justice. Too much confounded drawing up and signing of documents."

She sat up slightly, chin propped on hand, and regarded him. "Let me do it for a while, then. You know I can; I have done it before in your absence, and all but the hoariest old woman-hating, elf-hating knights accept my judgment now. Why not travel into the forest, go on a hunting trip?" She smiled. "Legolas is coming to visit next week. The very thing. You haven't seen him for more than a year. Take your bows and arrows and knives into the woods and pretend for old times' sake that you are hunting orc instead of deer."

He couldn't help smiling back at her gentle mockery of masculine pursuits, but his eyes narrowed nonetheless. Did she know what she was suggesting? Had she somehow read his mind, his wistful fantasizing as he lay there unable to look her in the face scant minutes ago? He scrutinized her expression but it was calm and bland, expectant.

"Not a good idea," he replied, more abruptly than he intended. "Besides, Arwen, you would wish to see Legolas too, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, oh yes," she replied quickly. She widened her eyes in a way that Aragorn loved; it always portended some wickedness about to emerge from that angelic mouth. "He is so very pretty."

Aragorn snorted with laughter. "That he is. Even after all this time." He flicked his wife of 20 years on the nose, and teased, "You would have him, would you?"

"If I could not have you."

He looked up at her quizzically. "Really?"

She shrugged. "He is brave, and well-favoured, and kind, and he is of my people. Had I not met you, I might have made an alliance with one such as he, and been content enough in my way, I suppose."

Aragorn frowned. "Certainly your father would have preferred it."

She reached for his hand. "Do not be so sure. Anyway, I am not my father. I chose you, and I choose you, always - however brief that always may be."

He lifted her fingers to his lips, and murmured, very low, "I have never been worthy of you."

But Arwen was lost in her own thoughts and did not seem to hear. "Besides," she added unexpectedly, "Legolas would never have been faithful to me. As you have been, my strong, dear love." She snuffed the last candle at their bedside, then turned and snuggled backwards, and his arms came around her automatically as the guilt washed over him again. Insane moments of passion at the end of bloody battles, all adrenaline and relief, in the time before he was wed to Arwen but after their betrothal - was that faithful? Constant, hidden yearning since; secret trysts for no other purpose but to gaze, and weep, and perhaps steal a kiss, no more - was that faithful? It had been the best they could do, he and Legolas, and it failed like a lawyer's sophistry in his mind's merciless Hall of Judgment. And indeed, had it not been for Legolas' pure and honourable will, the failure might have been much worse.

"You underestimate him, Arwen."

"No, indeed, love. I know him very well. He loves me too, you know, although you are his heart's core. He loves me and he loves our children because we are part of you, and he loves the Kingdom of Gondor because you are its King. Everything he does, he does for your sake. Were I wed to him, I could not keep him from your side." She spoke completely without bitterness, but her voice trembled a little and he could feel her steeling herself. "And you would not wish me to do so, because he is your heart's core also."

Aragorn's eyes were wide open in the dark. "Arwen…" he whispered, horrified, into her hair. _How long have you known?_ he wanted to ask, but he could not form the words.

"Are you very angry with me?" she asked, somewhat shakily.

"Angry with _you_?"

"I have been so selfish, to let you suffer so. But I wanted the children to grow up undisturbed and in your light; I wanted your reign peaceful and strong with all the alliances our wedding brought; alas, Estel, love, I want _you_…" She gave a tiny sob.

Aragorn turned her tight to his shoulder and stroked that beloved dark hair, kissing her, soothing her. Her arms came around him and clung.

"What are we to do?" he asked, confused.

She lifted her head, let him go and sat up. "I have been thinking about that for a long while," she said, not looking at him. "I am aging as a mortal, as you know, and I have seen the signs that I am past childbearing. Our youngest is nearly a woman. So it is time I let you go, my liege." The brief tears were gone and her tone was resolute. "I will betake myself to Rivendell to be with my kin, and you and Legolas can… " She hesitated and added in a low tone, "I wish you much joy, Aragorn. I can leave next week if you wish it."

Aragorn absorbed this as he found his way round the bed to light the candle, and sat down in a chair facing her. And then, to her obvious indignation and perplexity, he laughed. He laughed out loud.

"And are Legolas and I to have no say in this, woman?" he said. "You have it all arranged, do you? Down to the very choice of linens and china you will take with you, no doubt! Arwen, Arwen…" He shook his head, chuckling, and leaned forward to take her hands. "And if I want you to stay?" he asked with gentle urgency. "If I am just as selfish, wanting you, as you are wanting me?"

"You do not command me."

"Of course I do," he countered. "I am King, after all. What if I want you both? What if I command you both to my bed?"

"Then you are not the King I know," she answered simply.

He gave a sigh of exasperation and sat back. "True," he conceded. His mouth quirked. "Can you imagine 'Lasse's face?"

Arwen bit her lip, then lost the battle and giggled. "He would obey. But oh my goodness, he would argue…"

"And argue, and argue -- we'd never make him hold his peace!"

Arwen's rare laughter pealed out, and she held out her arms for her husband to join her in bed. "My poor love, just what you need - another stubborn elf quarrelling with you at bedtime!"

He rested his head against her breast, grateful the storm was averted, but unable to leave the subject alone. "That was a brave, foolish offer, my dearest," he said. "How long have I been making you unhappy?"

"Oh, ever since the day we met," she responded lightly. "And very happy too. And contented. And frustrated. And excited. Have I not done the same for you?"

He shook her very slightly where he held her waist. "You know what I mean, Arwen."

She looked down at him compassionately, and tilted up his chin so she could meet his eyes. "Legolas told me, just before Eldarion was born." She hushed his exclamation with a finger. "It was not his fault; I got it out of him most unfairly. He came in very drunk one night, and I found him weeping inconsolably in one of the little guest sitting rooms at the far end of the castle. He had decided to slip away the next morning without saying goodbye, and never to return. I was near my time, and the sight was … difficult for him. I taxed him with being foolish and ungenerous, and he defended himself with drunken eloquence. Would that I could express my own love for you half so movingly."

"How did you persuade him to stay, sweet?"

"I told him that his disappearance would hurt you beyond bearing, Estel. Which was no more nor less than what I had long suspected. Legolas made no claims that his love was returned, but I knew by his stricken look that I had hit the mark."

Aragorn groaned. "And I have been a liar and faithless scoundrel in your eyes all these years."

"Nay, my dearest lord. Never that. Never, never that. But it is time, perhaps, for all of us to stop deceiving each other in a vain attempt to spare one another pain. That is why I said what I did, and offered to go."

"You will not go." It was half command, half plea.

"I will not, my lord," she said, consideringly. "I will not go provided you can find some way within your monstrously honourable self to persuade that just as monstrously honourable elf to dwell in our house, to eat at our table, to teach our children, to inhabit our lives, and to ravish you as long and hard and often as you both desire."

Aragorn was speechless for a moment. "You cannot mean this," he choked out at last.

"I do," she said, and her hand rested gently on his head.

Benediction.

-/-/-

"Absolutely not!" sputtered Legolas. "How dare she suggest such a thing!"

Aragorn looked at him over the rim of his fourth mug of mead (it had taken that many to drum up his courage) and said mildly, "I thought you might like the idea."

"No woman grants me permission to love you!" Legolas was up and pacing noiselessly round the little anteroom of his castle suite.

"Would you rather she take herself off to Rivendell in some daft quest to make us happy?"

"Blackmail," said Legolas grimly. "Blackmail, pure and simple."

"Care to speculate on her motives? This is Arwen we're talking about after all."

Legolas slumped back into his chair. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I, to tell you the truth, but …" Aragorn shrugged. "Would you at least consider moving in for a few months?"

"And what would be my position? Official King's Whore?" There was no word in Elvish for the notion, so Legolas used the bitter Common Speech term.

"Actually, I was hoping you might be my Swordmaster. Elifar is getting on in years, and cannot teach the young men swordsmanship and archery the way he used to."

Legolas hmmphed.

"Think of it, 'Lasse," Aragorn went on in his most persuasive tones. "No more of these long partings. No more sneaking about, dreading to be spotted by anybody from the court, though by the Valar there is nothing to spot. Just seeing each other every day, and … life. Together." He reached across the table and took Legolas' hand, stroked the familiar archer's calluses on the fingers.

"It cannot turn out well," said Legolas gloomily, but he did not withdraw his hand. Aragorn smiled broadly, knowing he had won.

"But I will not come to your bed, and you must not come to mine," Legolas went on. Aragorn shrugged his acquiescence. That was the least of it, and he had the feeling he could change Legolas' mind.

"You will dwell with us, then?" he asked, just to be sure. And when Legolas nodded, Aragorn whooped, vaulted like a boy across the table, wrapped his once and future lover in his arms and kissed him till they both ran out of breath.

In her sewing room down the hall, Arwen heard the whoop and smiled.

-/-/-

It was a pleasant day, with little breeze, so Arwen had taken her sewing out to the garden for a while. But it lay unheeded in her lap, as she cast her eyes absently over the mingled pinks and purples of her favourite flower bed. She started as Legolas appeared noiselessly at her side.

"May I sit with you, my lady?"

"Of course, Swordmaster." She shifted her skirts to make room for him on the bench, but he sat instead on the grass at her feet, settling himself with youthful grace. Arwen felt the familiar pang of her own chosen mortality. "How goes it with my lord, Legolas?"

"I have scarcely seen him all day, Arwen. It seems there is some terribly complicated dispute over the trade routes to Rohan that has to be settled."

"Oh, that one. Yes, we thought that problem might come up again. We cannot have private interests controlling the border crossings…" She laughed at herself. "That surely isn't what you came to talk to me about, 'Lasse."

He was looking at her with interest. "He relies on you a great deal, doesn't he?"

"We rely on each other," she said.

And, since there was no point beating around the bush, Legolas asked bluntly, "So where do I fit in?"

"Wherever he wants."

"Forgive me if I do not believe you are entirely candid, Arwen."

"He grows old before his time, 'Lasse. His life is short, but it will be shorter still if he remains so unhappy. Oh, he does not think he is unhappy, but he is. I see it gnawing away at the root of him, and I have no power to heal it. Make him happy for me."

Legolas took a deep breath. "I am not so sure that I can. And I have no wish to usurp your place."

"You will not. I want you to make your own, with our help. There are no customs in Man's world, nor in the Elves', to guide us in this, 'Lasse. We must find our own way."

"There is truly no other reason you brought me here?"

"No other important one," she said.

He rose to his knees, placing a hand on either side of her on the bench. "Tell me about the unimportant ones," he challenged, holding her gaze.

She lifted a hand, involuntarily, to touch the blond braid at the side of the fair, ageless face. Shaking her head, she looked away. "Why should you have to put up with that?"

Seating himself at her side, he slid an arm around her shoulders, and deposited a gentle kiss on the averted face. "What makes you so sure I would be putting up with it?" he asked quietly. And was gone.

Arwen sat in her garden for a long time after that.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

It had been a good dinner. Aragorn picked up his table napkin and hid a most unkingly belch behind it. He did not like this mile-long table for family meals - never had - but at least Arwen never insisted on her rightful place at the far end of it except on ceremonial occasions. She sat at his right hand as always. Directly across from her, Eldarion, his son and heir, was finishing up as fast as he could. He had developed a teenage passion for the great leatherbound books in the library. Aragorn wondered if he had discovered those fascinating medical books behind the fourth pillar. Probably, though it would be nice if he were reading about the exploits of his family in the Great Wars instead. Eldarion shoved his last potato whole into his mouth. No, definitely the medical books. Aragorn caught Arwen's eye and winked, and she winked back, understanding.

"May I be excused, father?" asked Eldarion, still chewing.

"Off you go, son. Don't stay up all night."

Eldarion nodded to his mother as he left, but paid no attention to Legolas or to his youngest sister, Gwyn, who were deep in conversation over the table. Gwyn had brought her beloved Uncle L a sketch of a deer she had made at school (while she was supposed to be doing arithmetic) and was showing it off with shy 12-year-old pride. Legolas privately thought it was quite good, difficulties with perspective and proportion notwithstanding, and resolved to encourage her. "Would you like to come to the stables with me tomorrow, so we can draw some horses together, Gwyn?" he asked.

"Can I, mama? Oh, can I?"

"All right, after your lessons are finished, Gwyneth. You'll try not to let her get too dirty, won't you, 'Lasse?" Gwyn and Legolas shared a mischievous glance, and Arwen resigned herself to a mud-covered daughter. Legolas would be his usual pristine self, of course.

"Where did you say Avora is this evening?" Legolas asked Arwen. Avora was the middle child, an outspoken, athletic young woman with her mother's dreamy eyes and long dark hair. It was a combination that would drive young men wild within a very few years, Legolas was sure.

"Harp lessons, isn't it?" replied Arwen. "No, that was yesterday. Riding lessons tonight. Honestly, we're lucky to see her at evening meal three times in a week."

"She's dropped a few clanging hints that she'd like to join the boys in my beginners' archery class."

Arwen consulted Aragorn with a look. "Why not?" he said. "She couldn't learn from a better teacher."

Gwyn's lady's-maid (they didn't call her "nurse" any more, in concession to Gwyn's dignity) arrived to take her off for the evening, and at Aragorn's beckoning, Legolas moved up the table to sit beside him. As the servants cleared the dishes, Aragorn opened a bottle of wine and set out three glasses.

"Three whole weeks you've been living in our madhouse, 'Lasse," he said, smiling, as he poured out the wine. "How do you like it so far?"

"It keeps me busy, I'll grant you that!" said Legolas.

"You're being a great help; the children adore you," said Arwen.

"Eldarion might not agree with that, my lady."

"He'll come around," said Aragorn. "He's just suspicious of anything new that changes his routine."

"Perhaps," responded Legolas, noncommittally.

"Anyway, to family life!" They drank. Aragorn added, "and that reminds, me, 'Lasse - we really need to get you better quarters than that silly little guest suite off in the tower."

"Oh, it's quite all right, really. I like it there."

"But it's so far away from us. There's plenty of space in the Royal Quarters."

Arwen watched this tussle of wills with interest and amusement, and held her peace.

"Honestly, Estel - I'm quite happy where I am."

Aragorn opened his mouth, but whether to concede or to lay down the law will never be known, for Avora chose that moment to burst in, in full riding regalia, travelling at top speed as usual. She greeted each of her parents with a quick kiss, then turned to Legolas. "Did you ask them, Uncle L?"

Legolas smiled. "Yes… and yes."

"Thank you, thank you!" she crowed and flung her arms around him, very nearly upsetting the wine he still held. Then she was off again: "I'll eat with the servants - saves bother for everybody!" And she ran towards the kitchen door, shooting imaginary arrows as she went.

"Was that my daughter, or just a small whirlwind?" asked Aragorn humorously of no-one in particular. He turned his attention back to Legolas and said, still in good humour, "All right, Prince Legolas. Stay in your ivory tower for now, if you must. Nothing could change how I feel tonight." He gathered up Arwen's hand in one of his own, and Legolas' in the other. "I think I must be the happiest man in Middle Earth."

Legolas tilted his head and looked at Arwen, then held out his free hand. Accepting the challenge, she gave him hers. And Aragorn, watching them, was seized first with an overwhelming wave of jealousy, and then with the self-mocking realization of how ridiculous he was being. Kissing the two hands he was holding, he released them and joked, "I'll just find you two a room, shall I?"

Arwen punched him in the arm, and she had a good punch for an elf.

"Ouch!" he cried. "Legolas, defend me!"

"Sorry, my lord," Legolas responded gravely. "The odds are too overwhelming. I'd rather fight Helm's Deep all over again." He rose to his feet and came over between them. "Good night, Arwen," he said and kissed her briefly on the lips. "Good night, Estel." The second kiss was a little less brief. "I'll see you in the morning."

The maidservant in the kitchen doorway, waiting to clear up the wine, watched with interest.

"Shall we stay up for a little while, Estel?" asked Arwen. She turned to see her husband holding a hand to his stomach, a slight grimace on his face. "Is something wrong, sweetheart?"

"Naught but a little stomach-ache, sweet. Perhaps I ate overmuch pheasant tonight. It will pass."

"Let's get you to bed then. Perchance we can find a way to distract you from the stomach-ache."

He smiled and straightened. "I feel better already."

-/-/-

Legolas stood at the window of his tower suite, fretting as he watched the lights go out in the rest of the castle. Overwhelming odds, indeed. How had he allowed himself to be maneuvered into this position? It was torture - sweet torture, but torture nonetheless - to spend so many hours of his day in Aragorn's company, seeing him, casually touching him, and what was worse, knowing Aragorn would be willing if Legolas but said the word. And Legolas could not, simply could not. His pride would not allow it. He could not abide the notion of being an instrument in the Lady Arwen's hands, even to give Aragorn pleasure. The thought of the intimate details of his and Aragorn's love being murmured to Arwen in the marriage bed made him shake with anger and shame. And the woman had made no secret that she wanted Legolas as well…

Truly, she was a monster!

There was a knock at the door. Legolas answered it, and there stood the monster in a very fetching deep blue night-dress. "May I come in, 'Lasse?" she asked.

He felt trapped. "I am not come here to seduce you," she added wryly, and he emerged shamefaced from the corner into which he had instinctively retreated. The door swung shut behind her.

"Does Aragorn know you are here?"

"He is sound asleep," she said. "He is often exhausted these days. It worries me."

It worried Legolas too; he had seen the bags under Aragorn's eyes. But his first priority was to get rid of Arwen. "The servants…" he started.

"The servants are already gossiping," she told him. "I am reliably informed that Aragorn was seen last week with his two ruttish elves doing appalling things under the waterfall."

Legolas groaned.

"We are strangers in a strange land, Legolas, even after so many years," she said sadly as she sat down. "They are not great in number, the bigots, but they do most certainly exist."

Legolas nodded. Leading a less sheltered life than she did, he was all too familiar with the sight of human spittle landing at his feet - or worse. He knew there were those to whom simply being an elf was a despicable sin.

"How fares it with you, Legolas? Truly?"

Truly? Well, she had asked. "I grow very frustrated."

She glanced up appreciatively at his candour, and matched it. "So does he."

"Is that why you are here, Arwen? To push me into his arms?" His impatience was barely concealed. "Tell me, do you actually wish that? Does it give you some unspeakable thrill?"

"It tears me to pieces," she answered honestly. "To give all that I have to him … and to know that it is not enough… It is very humbling, 'Lasse." There were tears standing in her eyes, but she controlled them. "There have been times," she confessed quietly, "when I have been so angry with you that I have wanted to rend you limb from limb with my bare hands." She looked very small and vulnerable. Legolas reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"Would you like me to find some plausible excuse to end this?" he asked gently. "Go back to the way things were before?"

She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. "I need your help," she said. "Something is very wrong with him. I do not know if it is of the body or the spirit, but something is wrong."

Legolas nodded slowly.

"I have had healers to visit, elven and human," Arwen went on. "He would not be examined, saying there was naught amiss, but they watched him anyway. They tell me he is merely getting older, and overtired from the cares of his realm, but I do not believe them. He is pining for you, but - forgive me, Legolas - I do not think you are either the whole problem or the whole solution. Perhaps, though, he will tell you something he cannot tell me; show you something I cannot see."

"Lady, I dearly wish to serve him, but … "

"I understand. Here, it is all mine - the house, the family, the very coverlet on your bed." She drew a breath. "Take him away to where he is yours, Legolas. Take him to your green-leaf domain, where you both have memories of rougher, chancier days when more was risked and more was permitted. I do not care what you do… I do not need to know. I only ask," and the treacherous tears spilled over at last, "that you do not take him too far away from me. And that you bring him home safe."

Legolas looked at her with grave concern. "I thought you no longer cared for him so much," he admitted. "When he told me you were ready to leave him…"

She smiled through the tears. "No, Legolas. I never meant to leave. I knew he would not let me go." Seeing the pain on his face, she found it within herself to add, "And now he will not let you go either. We are both in thrall to him."

"Then we must both do our best for him," he agreed softly. "If you are sure, my lady?" She nodded. "I will ask him to go hunting tomorrow," he resolved.

-/-/-

"Hurry up, Your Majesty!" teased Legolas gleefully over his shoulder. "When did you become so fat and lazy?" It was a slander, and they both knew it. Aragorn was as lean as he had ever been. But there was no doubt he was having more trouble keeping up with his elfin friend than he used to have.

Aragorn gritted his teeth, increased his pace, and saved the breath he might once have used in a retort. As he scrambled to follow over yet another rocky outcropping, he wondered, not for the first time that day, whether Legolas was testing him in some way. For the life of him, though, he could not imagine why 'Lasse would do such a thing. It had never been the elf's habit to indulge in unseemly gloating over his own longevity and physical superiority.

Eventually, it was Legolas who cried halt. Aragorn was stubborn as ever, he realized, and would not stop until he lay unconscious in the dirt. Legolas had no intention of wearing him out that much.

He scooped some water into his palms from the little stream nearby, then turned to where Aragorn sat, recovering his breath, against a tree. "Here," said Legolas, and splashed the water over his friend's head and face. "Better?"

"Much," responded Aragorn. Now if only the tingling in his hands and feet would subside a little, and he had a few minutes to rest, he would start to feel quite human again, and could address himself to the true reason they were here in the woods together. He had been startled when Legolas suggested this trip, but had no notion of questioning his good fortune. It had been entirely too long. He reached out a hand to the elf, and asked, "Are we really here, _meleth-nin_, or am I only dreaming again?"

Legolas crouched down to face him and tenderly brushed a few droplets of water from the still-grimy cheeks. "It is real, beloved."

Aragorn made to draw him close, but Legolas merely smiled enigmatically and pulled away, asking, "Do you think you could go just a little further? I found a place a couple of years ago that I'd like to show you."

"Legolas Green-tease," grumbled Aragorn. And at the old, silly joke that had helped them through so many difficult days, Legolas gave his first broad grin of the day, and pulled Aragorn to his feet.

"Not much longer now, love," he said, and they set off shoulder to shoulder.

-/-/-

Arwen had not watched them leave that morning, choosing instead to keep herself busy with other tasks. Below, in the shadow of the palace gates, however, two sets of eyes had watched with great interest as the hunters set out together, racing, laughing, bumping and jostling each other in their high spirits.

"Look at that," said one voice, in disgust.

"Sickening," agreed the other. "Bad enough we have to bow and scrape to My Lady Whore upstairs. Now we have His Royal Highness Prince Catamite to boot. Arrogant bastard took a riding-crop to me the other day, because I didn't see to his precious horse fast enough to please him."

"Never mind," replied the first. "The elvish muck'll all clear out fast enough once the false king is gone - corrupt, rotten swine that he is! And then we'll get ourselves a real man back in charge."

"Is it working, d'you think?"

"Oh yes, it's working. He's trying to hide it, but it's crawling into his bones and guts, just like I told you. Not much longer now."

-/-/-

It didn't look terribly impressive after all the work of getting there, thought Aragorn. Just a flat space half-way up a rather exposed hill. There was enough space for a fire: something 'Lasse was building now, actually, with an armload of wood he'd carted all the way up the steep incline. There was a nice view of the westering sun, Aragorn supposed, but it really wasn't that spectacular. And he should check that almost-hidden cave mouth over there.

Legolas looked up sharply. "'Tis all right, Estel, I checked it already," he assured him.

Aragorn lazily watched Legolas cook the brace of hares they had bagged earlier. Really, he thought, he should make some move to help, but 'Lasse seemed quite content to take charge. Aragorn spread out his cloak beside the fire, lay back, and luxuriated in the rare sensation of being responsible for nothing at all. He was watching the stars emerge from the twilight, when something warm, greasy and delicious-smelling appeared from nowhere and brushed his lips. Legolas popped the choice morsel into Aragorn's surprised mouth, then laughed delightedly as Aragorn tried to capture his fingers as well.

"Eat, you ridiculous mortal," he said. "We need to keep your strength up." Grinning broadly, Aragorn rolled onto his elbows and tucked in with a vengeance.

"I need something to drink," said Aragorn at last. "There's a flagon of ale in my pack, I think." Legolas reached over and found the flagon, unstoppered it, and took a lengthy swig for himself before passing it to Aragorn.

"Mm, much better!" Aragorn smacked his lips and dashed a stray drop from his beard with the back of his hand. But then, as Legolas watched, Aragorn went suddenly pale and jumped to his feet. Retching miserably, he fled into the darkness. Following behind, Legolas was there to catch him when he stumbled to his knees and violently ejected the contents of his stomach. Legolas held his head and crooned elvish endearments until he was sure the worst was over; at length the heaving stopped and Aragorn began muttering black curses in every language he knew.

"I'll get you some water." Legolas was back within a minute with his flask. Aragorn drank gratefully. "Does this happen often, then?" The question was quiet in the darkness.

"Only in the last few weeks," confessed Aragorn.

"Was it the ale, do you think?"

"You drank it too."

Legolas shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything."

"It can happen with anything I eat or drink," Aragorn said grimly. Legolas put a hand on his shoulder. The man was thrumming under his hand like an over-taut bowstring. Legolas decided to let the subject drop for now.

"Remember I said I had something to show you?"

Aragorn nodded, wondering.

Legolas led him back to the fire. "Will you take the packs & cloaks?" Aragorn gathered them up as Legolas set about extinguishing the fire. Just before it went out, he gathered a healthy bundle of twigs, and, binding them deftly, turned them into a brand, lit from the last of the flames. Legolas picked up the abandoned flask, started to pour out the contents, then changed his mind and brought it with him.

Pulling aside the greenery to reveal a much larger cave-mouth than Aragorn had guessed, Legolas led the way in, pausing after a minute or so to wedge the brand into a shoulder-high crevice in the rock wall. The smoke wove upwards and found its way out through a star-filled crack high above their heads.

Eyes adjusting to the dimness, Aragorn made out a spacious cave, not enormous, but certainly large enough to serve as their bedchamber that night. If the gurgling sound was any indication, it had its own source of water, too. There was an odd odour, not foul but slightly metallic. "Over there," said Legolas, gesturing.

Not just a spring, but a pool as well, clear to the bottom even by torchlight. Yet a mist arose from the surface. Delighted, Aragorn exclaimed, "A hot spring!"

Legolas drew closer. "I think perchance your forebears knew of this place." And it was true: upon closer inspection the natural-looking pool showed signs of man's shaping hand. There were ledges beneath the surface, and even an embrasure with a rusty chain which must once have held a dish or jug with which to pour the steaming water.

Aragorn wasted no time. He was sick of feeling so filthy. Peeling off his boots, and scattering his clothing hither and yon, he plunged into the pool and immersed himself completely, never minding that he managed to get a mouthful of warm sulfuric-tasting water for his pains. Surfacing, he flipped himself on his back, found one of the ledges, rested his dripping head on the edge of the pool, and gave a groan of loud contentment as the heat began to insinuate itself into his weary muscles.

Legolas took his time, despite the effect a naked, wet and groaning Aragorn was having upon him. He laid out the cloaks and packs for their makeshift bed near the pool, then went back to the mouth of the cave to ensure the natural cover was back in place.

Aragorn watched entranced as Legolas reappeared in the flicker of the torchlight and smoothly removed his clothing. "Look at you," he breathed. Nothing had changed. The elf still had a soul-stealing beauty, a ravishing combination of unearthly perfection and tempting fleshliness, a body that was made to be adored and devoured in the same moment. Even more breathtaking than that, however, was the dark light that flickered in Legolas' eyes, promising to adore and devour in return.

Legolas strode into the water, and the waves passing over Aragorn were a sweet precursor to the warm weight of his lover's body. Legolas laid himself carefully over Aragorn's supine form, forearms on either side of the dark head, and kissed him, deep and hot and long. Indulging in the inevitable battle of tongues, Aragorn felt his bodily weariness giving place to rising passion, and wrapped himself around Legolas, grinding him closer. Legolas drew away a mere inch. "Easy, my love. We have time," he whispered.

Time. It was the one luxury they had never had, till now. For the past twenty years, it had only been the time to say no. Before that, it had only been moments of desperation, taking what could be had. Never had they had time simply to ask, "What would you like?"

Aragorn brought his wet hand up to Legolas' face. "What would you like?" he asked.

Legolas looked down at him, a smile playing over his features as he considered his options. "I want to take care of you tonight," he said finally. "I want to apologize for being a Green-tease. And I want you to lie still and be as quiet as you can while I do it."

Had he not been a King, Aragorn might have been accused of pouting at that moment.

"For now," added Legolas, the promise of more in his twinkling eyes.

Once again, but more strongly, Aragorn was suffused with that marvellous sensation of being burdenless, of being the irresponsible one. He relaxed in surrender. "Where do you want me?"

"Here is fine for the moment." Legolas started to kiss and lick down from Aragorn's neck, seemingly undisturbed when he had to dip under the water to reach and nibble upon a nipple. Squirming just a bit, Aragorn watched the long blond locks float on the surface of the water in front of him. When Legolas came up for air, he said, in mock concern, "Your hair's getting all wet."

With a mutter that sounded remarkably like, "Bugger my hair!" (but surely it was not), Legolas dived lower and for a long, glorious minute, he claimed and tormented his prize, Aragorn holding tight to the sides of the pool.

When Legolas rose to the surface again, flushed with triumph, they laughed together, and Aragorn pulled himself out to sit on the edge. Then the loving began in earnest, Legolas' eager hands and mouth leaving no inch of skin uncaressed, glorying in the soft, soaked hair on Aragorn's chest, belly and thighs, as Aragorn disobeyed his orders and ran his hands possessively across the smooth pale shoulders and back. Pushing gently, Legolas arranged his lover face down on one of the cloaks and teased and gentled his way the whole length of the rangy body.

Only once did they speak again.

"You sure you want to lick there?"

"Prissy human."

A long humming sigh. "Filthy elf."

Aragorn was pushed over again, and with gentle skill and seemingly endless patience, Legolas worked on bringing forth gasps and sighs and murmurs for what seemed to the half-delirious human like days. At length, sensing that Aragorn had reached the point of no return, Legolas seized upon the weeping cock and swallowed it with sweet, unbearable pressure. A great deep groan arose from Aragorn's chest as he spasmed; Legolas rode him out till the last twitch.

Aragorn's hand reached out and tangled in Legolas' wet hair. "Come here," he whispered, and Legolas pushed himself up so they were side by side. Aragorn heaved himself up onto an elbow and turned to his lover. "I want to... I'm going to..." His head lapsed onto Legolas' shoulder, and Aragorn fell fast asleep.

There was nothing but tenderness and amusement in Legolas' gaze. He took half a minute to see to his own needs, then pulled the other cloak over them both and settled down to keep vigil over his King all through the night, memorizing his beloved features for the empty years ahead.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Aragorn woke the next morning with a feeling of profound satisfaction. Sunlight seeped into the cave from the crack in the rock high above, and another hesitant shaft could be seen at the cave mouth. He quickly pulled on his clothing. Of Legolas there was no sign, but as Aragorn approached the entrance to day, he heard soft, tuneful humming.

"_Melethron_." Legolas greeted him with a grin, looking up from the braid he was making in his hair.

"Good morning, _melethron_."

"You slept well." It was not a question.

"Very well indeed, thanks to you." Aragorn deposited a kiss on top of the yellow head, then sat beside Legolas on the long flat rock.

"Do you wish to hunt, before the sun rises too high?" asked Legolas.

"If we can find something between here and the great stand of white birch. I wish to sit there with you and talk."

At last. "Of course," responded Legolas. "Will you have some _lembas_ first?" He broke off a piece from his bundle.

Aragorn suddenly realized he was ravenous. There had been a time when he had come to loathe the waybread, but now he was reminded of its principal virtue: it was filling. He was aware of Legolas' keen gaze as he finished his last bite and awaited the verdict of his stomach. One brief ripple of protest brought a sour look to his face, but after a few hard swallows, the revolt subsided and the pain diminished into the grumbling ache to which he had grown accustomed.

"Better," Aragorn pronounced. "_Lembas_ for me from now on, then."

-/-/-

Arwen sighed with relief as she lifted the heavy crown from her head in the antechamber of the Hall of Justice. The first of that day's sessions was done, but two more remained. No wonder Aragorn grew weary of this.

She relaxed into a large leather chair and turned her thoughts to her husband and his friend - their friend - on their journeys. She wondered if they had decided to visit the stand of tall white birch that Aragorn had more than once spoken of. Smiling, she recalled his rapturous description of the place.

"We must visit there together, love. Truly I have not seen so lovely a spot outside of Rivendell or Lorien itself. The meadow is green and full of flowers, the brook clear and tuneful, but oh - the trees! They are tall and pale, nearly as white as our own White Tree at Minas Tirith; each trunk reaches almost branchless to the sky, where their dense crowns of green leaves merge. They are strong and slender, hardy yet flexible in the wind. They seem to me like a forest of tall, fair wood-elves."

"I would like to see that some day," Arwen had responded at the time, forbearing more pointed comment. But somehow the two of them had never found time to visit Aragorn's Legolas-forest.

There was much of the elf in Arwen yet. Summoning up a mental image of those pale, towering treetrunks to focus upon, she reached into the best parts of herself and poured out to the wanderers a wordless message of love and reassurance and strength, though she had little hope that it would feed anything but her own soul. A few moments later, she had her reward, and a look of great happiness passed over her face.

"Arwen?" asked Faramir, arms full of parchment for the next Judgment.

"They're safe," she said joyfully. Faramir shook his head indulgently. Elves and their party tricks.

Arwen took up the Crown again with a lighter heart.

-/-/-

Legolas lay sprawled and sated on his back in the lush green grass beneath a birch tree. Aragorn lay on top, head resting against his lover's chest, reluctant to unsheathe himself just yet. Both were warmed by the high morning sun.

"You have worn me out, Aragorn," murmured the Elf, not complaining.

After a long moment, the Human responded, "Aragorn? Not Estel?"

"Estel's your baby name," replied Legolas, with a slow smile. "'Tis the full-grown Man I love." He ran his fingers through the shaggy hair, and ruffled the Man's beard with his fingertips.

The Human reached to the side and plucked a bright yellow flower, then lazily brushed the petals over the smooth skin of Legolas' throat.

"Tilt up your chin, love," he murmured.

Legolas looked down at him, amused, then did as he was bid.

"I thought as much," chuckled Aragorn. "Butter-lover." He played the golden disk of light reflected from the flower around the underside of Legolas' chin.

"Is that a Human superstition?" asked Legolas, stretching lethargically, his arms over his head, his hand brushing the trunk of the tree. His exclamation of surprise wiped all thoughts of the buttercup from Aragorn's mind. "Do you feel that?" Legolas laid his hand more firmly against the bark.

"What?" asked Aragorn. But even as he asked, a familiar scent seemed to waft around him, and he closed his eyes the better to perceive it. "Arwen," he exclaimed in his turn.

As quickly as it had appeared, the sense of her presence was gone.

Aragorn sat up, separating himself from his lover, and studied him where he lay, eyes still closed in concentration. At length, Legolas shook his head and took his hand from the tree.

"Did you have mind-speech with her?" Aragorn asked.

"Nay," said Legolas, sitting up as well. "I am not gifted in that way, and neither is Arwen. But I think she managed to tell the trees to send us her love." He ran his fingers across the birch-bark again. "And I have asked the trees to reply in kind. Why do you frown, Estel?"

Aragorn bit his lip, and Legolas smiled. "Never fear, _melethron_. The trees will not distress her. They are the most discreet beings in Middle Earth."

Aragorn's eyes were drawn irresistibly to the vision of Legolas bathed in sunlight. "Ah well, in that case..." He moved forward.

"Ai, you have brought me pleasure three times already this morning! Even a Wood-Elf has limits!"

"I'm sure we can manage something." Aragorn was only planning to tease, very slowly, more for the joy of being able to do it than out of any real need. He settled himself happily on his elbows between Legolas' spread legs, ignoring the as yet barely-interested elfhood in favour of tasting and licking the sweat-slicked skin of chest and abdomen. Casting a glance upwards, he rejoiced to see Legolas closing his eyes, enjoying the sensations.

Blowing gently in Legolas' belly-button, Aragorn reached behind each leg and drew blunt fingernails back and forth along the tender creases between thigh and buttock. Legolas gave a startled giggle. "Estel! That is exactly what Arw..." He cut himself off abruptly and opened his eyes in alarm. The look on Aragorn's face confirmed his fear. "She has never told you, then?"

"No," was all Aragorn managed to force out past the sudden turmoil of emotion. He got to his feet. Then he was able to add, addressing the trees, "To be fair, I never asked. I knew that in such a long life, she would likely have loved before, perhaps many times. It just never occurred to me that you... " He put a hand to his head and turned back to Legolas. "Come into the shade with me, 'Lasse. We need to talk about my wife."

Legolas followed him under the canopy of leaves, where they sat facing each other, shadows playing dappled across their faces. "It was one summer, 300 years before you were born - is that what you need to know?" asked Legolas, with an edge of irritation.

"It's a good start," conceded Aragorn.

"Perhaps it is the part of _your wife_ to tell you the rest."

Aragorn winced. His head ached badly, and it seemed he could not focus his thoughts. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, the wood seemed to swim in his vision for a second before he fixed his gaze on Legolas' unsmiling face. "I am an idiot," said Aragorn, with conviction.

That was enough to bring back the Elf's smile. Legolas moved over beside his lover, and put an arm around him. "You have your moments," he agreed quietly. "Do you really doubt Arwen's love for you?" Aragorn shook his head. "Or mine?" Aragorn shook his head emphatically once more. "Then what are you weeping for, you silly man?"

Aragorn found he did not know the answer. The unexpected tears were suddenly threatening to overtake him. He wept in silence for several moments, trying desperately to regain control.

"I don't understand..." he choked out finally. "I don't understand what's going on. You and Arwen are both... behaving so strangely, almost as if there is some secret you share. My mind is fuzzy, my body is in an uproar, everything is out of control... I am afraid, 'Lasse -- everything is confused, and I am afraid..."

Legolas rocked him comfortingly for a moment, then pulled away and took his hand, absently noting, not for the first time, the strange white streaks in his fingernails. "You are a King and a healer, Estel. You are no fool. Tell me what is happening with you. Tell me all the things that feel wrong."

"You want a catalogue of my bodily weaknesses?"

"Exactly."

Aragorn sighed and brushed away the tears, concentrating. "My stomach aches. All the time. And I never know whether I am going to hold on to my food. Last night was the first good sleep I have had in a month. My head aches a lot, but worst when I get up in the middle of the night coughing and cannot stop. My hands and feet - sometimes they are numb, 'Lasse, but more often they tingle tormentingly until I am ready to scream."

"Yes," said Legolas gently. "Anything more?"

Aragorn knit his brows. "I don't think so. I don't know."

"You taste different," said Legolas. "In your mouth. It's metallic."

"I thought that was just my imagination." Legolas shook his head.

Aragorn drew up his knees and put his head down. "Eru," he whispered. "It's true, isn't it, 'Lasse? I'm being poisoned."

Legolas rubbed his shoulder, giving him time.

"Who.. who would do such a thing?"

"I do not know, _melethron_, but I swear to you I will find out. It must be some spy within the household."

Aragorn looked up at him in sudden horror. "Valar aid us," he cried, "the children! And Arwen! They are in terrible danger, 'Lasse! We must return to Minas Tirith right away." And he pulled himself to his feet.

Legolas did not gainsay him. He was right. They travelled hard and unstopping across country and reached the castle by nightfall. The idyll was over.

-/-/-

Faramir looked worriedly at the huddled group in front of him. An exhausted Aragorn sat pressed up against Legolas on a bench. Arwen was perched on her husband's knee, arm tight around his neck. The news they had decided to share with their faithful steward was dire.

"Have you seen a healer?" he asked urgently.

Arwen shook her head. "There is no point at the moment," she said. "We know what is happening, and the risk of panic is great if this news spreads amongst the townsfolk. 'Lasse thinks we should seem to go on as normally as possible and tell as few people as we can while we search for this… this murderer. And I agree." The break in her voice belied her apparent calm.

"But you cannot allow yourself to go on being poisoned, Aragorn!" expostulated the Steward. "Surely we can take precautions; I will cook all your food, and taste all your wine before you put it to your lips."

Aragorn bent forward to pat Faramir briefly on the hand. "You are the third to make that offer, Faramir," he said, smiling. "Truly I am blessed. It seems, though, that the poison is being administered in very small doses and I am feeling the effects of many weeks, if not months. Having a taster is not likely to be of much help, even if I were prepared to lose you - which I most certainly am not."

"But Faramir has a point," Arwen put in. "His presence in the kitchen is not likely to be questioned, and he could supervise the preparation of Estel's meals on the pretext that the King has an unwell stomach. That much, at least, is fairly common knowledge."

"And I will insist on uncorking your wine in your presence," Faramir added at once, glad that he had found a way to be useful.

"That may cause the poisoner to suspect," said Legolas thoughtfully. "But in itself, that is not a bad thing. It could cause him to become impatient and careless - or perhaps to cease his villainy altogether. In any case," he went on, putting a firm hand on Aragorn's arm, "I am still going to eat from your plate and drink from your cup."

Aragorn sighed. "I still do not see how it will help, but if you must, then you are the one amongst us it will hurt the least," he conceded. "All right, 'Lasse." Over her husband's head, Arwen mouthed "Thank you."

"What about you and the children, Arwen?" went on Faramir. "Have you shown any signs of illness?"

"Gwyn had a tummyache a couple of weeks ago, but I am fairly certain it was just too many wild raspberries from her ramble in the woods with 'Lasse. I do not think we have been targets, at least not yet. Still, I would greatly prefer it if they were away from here."

"Weren't Gwyn and Avora going to visit the family at Imladris soon?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes, we had planned to send them in a couple of weeks."

"Let's do that now, then. Whom should we send with them to guard them?"

"I'll lend you Beregond and Bergil," said Faramir. "Their loyalty to me - and to you - is indisputable."

Aragorn thought back to the day twenty years earlier when he had "banished" Beregond from Minas Tirith for over-zealous loyalty to the line of the Stewards - a merciful banishment into Faramir's service that had earned Aragorn the undying devotion of the gruff soldier and his son Bergil. That decree had only lasted until Faramir's first visit, of course, and now that Eowyn had passed into the Halls of Mandos, Faramir spent far more time with his friends at Minas Tirith and his two soldiers lived in the seven-tiered citadel for a good part of the year. They would be an excellent choice to guard the girls. "Agreed," said Aragorn.

"And what about Eldarion?" asked Legolas.

"What _about_ Eldarion?" asked the prince in question from the doorway.

"Come in, my son," Aragorn said, "and join our counsels."

Eldarion sat himself on the floor next to his parents, eyes flickering uneasily at Legolas' proximity. "What is happening, father?"

But it was Arwen who ran a soothing hand through Eldarion's hair as she explained how his father's life was endangered. "The girls will start on their trip to Imladris tomorrow," she concluded. "I would like you to go with them, 'Dar, and look after them."

The young man's face took on a mulish look. "You want me safely out of the way, you mean," he said. "There are plenty of people who can look after my sisters. I want to stay and help you find this cowardly assassin. I want to see his execution!"

Aragorn's lips twitched. As usual, Eldarion spoke aloud what others felt. But he rejoined, "Your mother is right, Eldarion. You are my heir. If someone seeks to steal my kingdom by assassination, it is inevitable that they will try to kill you as well. That I will not risk." He reached for his son's hand and gripped it, surreptitiously checking the boy's fingernails for the white streaks that disfigured his own. To his great relief, there were none.

"If everyone is looking after you, I will be safest right here by your side," argued Eldarion, squeezing the hand that held his before releasing it. "And I know all the people in this palace, Father. All of them. I can help you."

"That's enough, son. You're going to Imladris. No more arguments."

Legolas leaned close to Aragorn's ear and murmured a few words. Eldarion frowned.

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know, 'Lasse. It still seems too risky to me."

Legolas turned to Arwen. "Eldarion is right. He has unfettered access to every part of the palace, and he is young enough that the servants will talk more freely in front of him than they would in our presence. Could he not stay for a little while, at least?"

Eldarion did not know whether to be grateful for the Elf's interference or not, but he was far more interested in the silent conversation his parents were now conducting above his head. "Please, Father?" he begged.

Aragorn thinned his lips and closed his eyes for a second. Then he leaned forward again to his son and said emphatically, "You will neither eat nor drink anything that is not given to you by one of us in this room. You will say nothing to anyone that even suggests you know about the poison. You will tell us immediately if you feel odd or ill in any way. You will be extra careful at all times, and you will not wander around by yourself at night. And if you ever find yourself threatened, you will run away and call for help. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father," said Eldarion solemnly, repressing his exultation. "And don't worry, we'll find that… that _bastard_!" Faramir clapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Aye, that we will," echoed Legolas. And he met Eldarion's challenging stare with a brief smile.

"Time for us all to get some rest, I think," said Arwen, and, getting up, she walked with her son and Faramir to the door leading towards the Royal Quarters. Eldarion cast a glance back over his shoulder for his father, and then wished he hadn't. Parting for the night at the room's opposite door, Legolas and Aragorn were exchanging a gentle lovers' kiss.

Eldarion scowled at his mother's back as he left the room.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Benediction  
Author: Surreysmum  
Pairings: Legolas/Aragorn; Aragorn/Arwen  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: slash, het content  
Disclaimer: Tolkien created the characters. PJ made the movies. I make no money.  
Feedback: Sure - I'd love it.  
Archive: Please ask first  
Beta: The amazing namarie120, endlessly patient and tactful. However, all failings and errors are my own.  
Banner: a gift from the very talented Tularia  
Summary: After twenty years of marriage, it seems Aragorn & Arwen have it all, but something is terribly wrong...

**Part 4**

Avora lingered for once, meandering around the little meadow near the spot where they had stopped for lunch. The colours of the flowers were appealing; she thought the purple ones would look particularly nice braided into Gwyn's hair.

With a frown, Avora remembered her mother's worried voice. "You'll take special care of Gwyn, won't you, 'Vora? She's still too young to be sensible sometimes." And then Avora had had to promise for the second time that they would do everything that Beregond said - as if they wouldn't anyway! And why were they suddenly rushing away to Rivendell when they hadn't planned to leave for weeks? Her mother's muttered explanation about wanting them to travel "while the weather was still nice" was obviously a grown-up's evasion. It was only midsummer. Avora glared at the blue flower before she picked it. There was something they weren't telling her, and she was afraid - with a fear she avoided examining too closely - that it had something to do with her father's increasingly haggard looks. Perhaps they were hurrying because Beregond was charged with bringing back a healer from Rivendell? But then why not just send a messenger who could travel much faster than the two girls on their safe, steady ponies? And that was another point of grievance with Avora...

She came across a little clump of the pink ones with the bell-like petals; Uncle L had told her their name, but she couldn't remember at the moment. Adding a few to her posy, she turned back to find Gwyn.

It took a few moments to find her way back to where they had stopped for their picnic. When she finally saw her sister, Avora dropped her flowers and burst into an alarmed run. Beregond, she knew, had gone to replenish their water, but Bergil was nowhere to be seen, and sitting on the travelling rug beside the basket and Gwyn was a strange man.

"Who are you?" demanded Avora angrily as she reached them.

The man did not rise to his feet, but merely smiled up at the flushed young woman. "You must be Gwyneth's charming sister, Avora," he said, and seizing her hand, he put it to his lips.

Startled, Avora pulled away. "Where is Bergil, Gwyn?" she asked.

"Oh," said her sister. "He went to ... you know. He'll be back in a minute."

The smile had not faded from lips of the man. The young man. The indisputably handsome young man. "Won't you sit down with us, Avora?" he asked. "Gwyn was just telling me all about your journey to Rivendell."

Avora was sorely tempted. He was so attractive. He had kissed her hand, and she had behaved like a silly child. But as she hesitated, he reached out and took Gwyn by the wrist. "Gwyn likes me anyway, don't you child? We're going to go and visit my cottage, where I have all sorts of beautiful butterflies in my collection. Perhaps you would come with us?"

All her mother's admonitions flooded back to Avora. "Bergil, where are you?" she cried. The young man tightened his grip on Gwyn's wrist, and the little girl wriggled. "Let her go!" demanded her elder sister.

"No, I don't think so," said the young man, pulling the frightened girl to her feet and trapping her against him with his left arm. "Come, Avora, there's really nothing to be afraid of. I just want your company for a little while." He stretched out his other hand to her.

Avora backed away slowly, her mind working at a furious pace. With relief, she felt herself bump gently backwards into Beregond's horse. Swiftly she drew out Beregond's extra sword, the one he had been tutoring her with, and, holding it as firmly as she could, brandished it at the stranger.

He laughed. "Don't cut yourself with that thing, little girl!" But Avora advanced on him, aiming the heavy sword at his sneering face, and away from her sister, and he had to retreat to avoid her. Frowning, he made to draw his own sword, but Gwyn was in the way. He took a few steps further back towards the trees. "You, at least, are coming with me," he announced to the whimpering Gwyn.

Beregond stepped out from behind him, and put a knife to his throat. "I'll trouble you to release the lass," he snarled.

With a whirl of motion, the young man flung Gwyn away from him, drew his sword, and faced Beregond.

"Father!" came Bergil's shout, and the younger man appeared clutching a piece of bloodied linen against the side of his head. Grabbing the sword away from Avora, he ran to help Beregond, and their adversary, obviously deciding that discretion was the better part of valour that day, ducked away from them both and ran swiftly into the woods. Bergil made after him, but the sound of a horse's hooves quickly informed him that chase would be futile.

Avora sat down on the travelling rug rather suddenly, pulling the sobbing Gwyn into her arms. She felt a bit like howling herself. Beregond came over to her and squatted down. "Brave girl," he said, giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "That was well done. You think on your feet, 'Vora. And you didn't give me away when you saw me. I've known seasoned soldiers who wouldn't have managed that so well." His praise completely undid Avora, and she buried her face in Gwyn's hair and wept. Beregond gave her another bemused pat and went to see how his son fared.

"Art hurt, boy?" he asked, examining the wound.

"Mostly my pride, father," returned Bergil.

"Hmm, got you from behind, did he?" Beregond's hands were gentle and swift from long experience in the field. "As well you have a thick skull, my lad. Dizzy?"

"Not too bad."

"Sit and rest while I get the horses ready then, 'Gil. We need to be at the village before nightfall. I am loath to prolong this journey any more than we have to."

As he worked on the horses, Beregond mused on the identity of the stranger. He was obviously no commoner. He carried a sword. His clothing had been nondescript but of good cloth. And his face - his face was annoyingly familiar. The dark hair, the thin features, the grey eyes. Beregond couldn't quite place it.

Seeing that Gwyn and Avora had stopped their weeping, he asked them, "Did the man tell you his name?" Avora shook her head, but Gwyn offered, "He told me to call him 'Ral."

"'Ral," mulled Beregond, but he was no further ahead.

"He knew my name," added Gwyn.

"Did he now?" Beregond scowled. "All right, then. 'Gil and I are going to ride on the outside with you two in the middle as long as the road is wide enough. When we have to break, Gwyn is with me, and 'Vora is with 'Gil, and no-one - _no-one_, d'ye understand? - is to go wandering off on their own." He cast a glance towards his abashed son. "That includes you, mister."

"Aye, father." In a sombre mood, the little party resumed their journey.

-/-/-

Aragorn sank back into his pillows with a loud groan of pleasure. He reached up a hand to the face of the Elf who had just ridden him to completion.

"Liked that, did you?" asked Arwen breathlessly, still rocking gently.

"Oh yes," he murmured in his throat, flipping them over. "Come here, my elf queen, my enchantress, and let me finish you…" He wriggled his way down the front of Arwen's body, impatiently nudging her slim pale thighs farther apart, and buried his face between her legs, knowing exactly where and how to make her mewl in pleasure. A few well-placed swipes of his tongue and he had Arwen's fists gripping at the sheets and her legs locked around his back. He paused for a second to admire the pink flush that had overtaken her white skin. Her dark eyes, normally so deep and placid, flashed in desperate delight.

"More, Estel!" she urged in a whisper. He gladly met her demand, adding fingers to tongue and quietly revelling in the convulsive response. At length she cried aloud, and he felt her limbs go slack beneath him. He planted a kiss on the soft curve of her belly, then rested his head there.

"Ai, my love," she managed, reaching to caress his cheek, his throat, his shoulder, as the last hot pulses thrilled through her. "Always you take such good care of me." She raised her head to see his face, and was troubled by what she saw there. "Are you in pain again, Estel?" She drew him gently back up to face her on the pillows.

"No worse than usual," he lied. "My head aches a little, that is all. It seems even my elf-queen can only chase that ache away for a little time."

She pulled him closer, and ran her fingertips in soothing circles on his temples. "Dream of a better place and time, sweet," she murmured. "Think of that lovely wood in Imladris where we first met and courted, where I danced for you under the birch-trees and you stole your first kiss." Aragorn obediently closed his eyes, and for a few moments a reminiscent smile danced on his lips.

Suddenly, though, his eyes opened and his brow was furrowed once more. "Do not be angry with me, Arwen, but … but I have to ask this. Was that wood the same place where you and 'Lasse…"

"Legolas!" muttered Arwen angrily to herself. "Why now, of all times?" She kissed her husband's brow. "No, Estel," she said, "that place is ours and ours alone."

"Will you tell me about it… you and 'Lasse?" She sighed. "Indulge me, Arwen."

She could deny him nothing. "There is little to tell, Estel. I was young, barely of age, and he came to visit us one summer. He was so beautiful, so … unusual. A warrior, like my brothers, but supremely gentle and courteous. I used to walk in the gardens in the evening, thinking about him, weaving silly girlish fantasies. Then one evening, he came and walked with me, and we talked long into the night. Though I was so young and naïve, he listened to all I had to say, and flattered me greatly with his attention. When you are a young girl amongst so many malefolk, you get used to being, well, a little bit invisible sometimes."

Aragorn touched her cheek. "I can't imagine you ever being invisible," he said.

Arwen smiled. "Nonetheless it felt that way at times. That night 'Lasse kissed me for the first time, and of course I fell madly for him. And it seemed to me that for him, too, it was more than a passing fancy. We walked in the moonlight often after that, and he taught me the ways of lovers. It was very warm that summer, and Imladris was even more glorious than usual with soft meadows and fragrant trees. It was like an amazing dream, Estel. One that had to end, of course."

"Surely 'Lasse was not cruel to you."

"No, no, it was my father who ended it. Calmly, and firmly, and for all the right reasons, as was always his way. He told me that he had seen something of my destiny in visions, and although he was glad that I had learned my first lessons in love from a noble Elf like Legolas, he could not allow it to go any further. And so Legolas was asked to leave. I do not know what my father said to him, only that it was final. And Legolas did not return to Rivendell for centuries after that, not until the Council."

"You must have been devastated," Aragorn said sympathetically. His hand wandered absently across her breast.

"I wept for many days," she admitted. "And not only for myself. For I had begun to understand what perplexed me at first - why Legolas would bother with my company. He was - he is still - very lonely, Estel. Though much less so now, thanks to Gimli's friendship and your steadfast love."

Aragorn smiled, a little grimly, and his hands roved again. "He has no cause to be lonely now, love. He is proud, that is all." His hands curled behind her and seized her flanks. "Did he touch you like this, Arwen, and like this?"

"Ai, Estel!" she cried, and stilled his hands. "Why do you do this?" He shook his head, unwilling or unable to explain. "Your head hurts you still," said Arwen. "Let me get you some willow-bark tea."

"That is not what I want, wife," he growled. "Tell me, show me how he made love to you, your dream-Elf."

She caught his hands again and clasped them in her own between their bodies. "No," she said. "You tell me. Tell me how you feel just now. Tell me how you feel when you think of us together, 'Lasse and me."

"Jealous," he admitted grudgingly. "Jealous, and mad with desire."

"I know exactly what you mean," she said.

He looked in her eyes and realized, for the first time, that she did indeed understand.

"Mad with desire," she echoed softly. And then they seized upon each other and made ferocious love.

-/-/-

Legolas found Eldarion in the library.

"Eldarion, we must talk," he said.

"No we mustn't," responded the boy, trying to retreat into his book.

"But indeed we must," said Legolas gently. "I need to know why you will not be in the same room with me; what it is you want me to do."

Eldarion slammed the book shut, got up and turned his back rudely on the Elf. "You want to know what I want?" he said to the walls. "I want you to go away and never come back! I want you to leave my family alone! But why ask what I want? Nobody ever listens to me around here."

"I am listening," said Legolas.

The boy turned to him angrily. "You dishonour my mother!" he spat.

"That I do not," responded Legolas evenly. "I honour your mother above all women."

The boy looked at him incredulously. "I am no child, Legolas!"

"I know that."

"I see what is in front of my nose. I see how you behave with my father; how you smile at him, how you touch each other -- Eru! I cannot bear to think of it. It is vile!"

"What is so vile about love, Eldarion?" The boy gave an exasperated noise and started away. "Nay, do not go. May I not try to help you understand a little?"

"I don't want to understand ... that." But Eldarion sat down again, still refusing to look at the Elf.

"I'm sure you don't," said Legolas, with just the hint of a smile in his voice. "Tell me, when you think about your mother and father - together - is that vile too?"

Eldarion made a disgusted face.

"Well, exactly. Parents - they just really shouldn't, should they? Can you be fair and admit that is at least part of why you are so angry with your father, and with me?"

"I'm not angry with Father," mumbled Eldarion.

"Of course you are," said Legolas. "But he's much too important to shout at. And he cannot be driven out of your life, as you wish me to be."

"It's your fault, not his," grumbled Eldarion.

"Of course," agreed Legolas without mockery. "And I am particularly disgusting because... because I am an Elf?"

Eldarion rolled his eyes. "I'm half-elven myself, and I am not one of those bigots."

"Because I am male, then?"

The boy gritted his teeth. "You're really trying to make me out to be unreasonable, aren't you? No, I wasn't brought up that way. I have many male friends in Imladris who are bonded, and I respect their bonds. But they're not..."

"They're not coming between your mother and your father, at least as you see it." Legolas' teeth worried at his lip. Now they were treading on eggshells, in truth. "Eldarion, have you ever spoken about this with your mother?"

"Of course not!" The indignation in his voice suddenly crumbled into a quaver. "She suspects, doesn't she?"

Legolas regarded the boy with great sympathy. "She knows, Eldarion. And if you can find a way to talk to her, you will discover she is not angry."

"Likely she'll just tell me again to go away and read about elves," Eldarion said sulkily, unable to contemplate this shocking new information, and shelving it for future consideration.

"I see you have been following her advice." Legolas indicated the abandoned book.

Eldarion's eyes followed his gesture. "How is it possible to say you love him?" he demanded. "When your life extends thousands of years on either side of his, how could he possibly be more than a passing fancy, a toy?"

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment in pain. He had not thought to expose his own heart, but the boy deserved honesty. "There will be no other for me after Estel," he said. "The sea-longing has been upon me for many years now. I tarry past my time only for love of the Lord of the White Tree."

Hesitantly, he looked back at Eldarion, expecting still to see disgust or derision. But the boy was no longer looking at him. Instead, he was studying his fingers, brow furled, as if he were trying to untangle a difficult problem in geometry or arithmetic.

And, deciding he had tortured them both enough, Legolas rose abruptly and changed the subject. "Will I see you at dinner?"

Eldarion looked up at him, still frowning. "Maybe."

Legolas nodded to himself. That was better than he had dared hope.

"Legolas," said Eldarion suddenly as the Elf reached the door of the library. "This morning I saw Doric the stableboy and Baltor the winemaster deep in conversation, and they parted very suddenly and guiltily when I approached. It probably means nothing at all, but it seemed odd…"

"Thank you, Eldarion."

-/-/-

The spartan hut in the woods showed little sign that it had been occupied for weeks now. The young man pacing angrily up and down its dirt floor prided himself on his ability to withstand rough living, though the lack of accommodation had not improved his temper. Still, that was not the main cause of his agitation at the moment.

"Fool!" he chided himself out loud. "The girls are unimportant - mere details! Why risk the whole plan on such an impulse!"

A timid knock on the door irritated him further. "Enter!" he bellowed.

"Excuse me, master," said Doric, bowing very low.

"What is it now?"

"I have bad tidings," the messenger said apprehensively. "Baltor thinks the plan has been discovered. The food and wine are being guarded carefully by the steward, and Baltor can no longer add the powder unobserved."

The young man swore viciously and kicked a stool to the other side of the hut.

"Incompetent idiots! Why does nothing go right!" He strode over to his pack and withdrew a pouch from its depths. He chucked it to the stable-boy. "There - in case he does not have enough left. Tell Baltor he is to finish the matter - finish it tonight!"

"But…"

"Yes, no doubt he will be discovered. Tell him I will take him under my protection if he flees."

"Sir…"

"Yes, yes, you too, you too. Now go!"

The boy backed bowing out of the hut, grateful to have escaped his master's wrath, and clutching the precious, terrible powder to his chest.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

"Dance for me," said the King.

Only Arwen, Aragorn and Legolas remained in the small withdrawing room where they had become accustomed to eating their meals. Faramir and Eldarion had retired, each to their own devices, and a servant had just finished clearing away the remains of the food, leaving only the wine Faramir had opened and poured with his own hands. Aragorn was feeling decidedly better, and had commanded music to accompany their repast.

Legolas looked up and grinned. "I'd like that," he said. "I haven't seen Arwen dance for ages."

"No, no," laughed Aragorn. "I mean both of you. Together. One of those courtly Elvish dances, the ones that both of you do so gracefully, where I always forget all the steps and tread on everyone's toes."

"Would you like to, Arwen?"

"With pleasure, 'Lasse. Although I may forget the steps as well!"

The harpist struck up a stately pavane. Arwen curtsied and Legolas gave a flourishing bow. As they moved through the first figure, fingers barely touching, Arwen flashed her partner a flirtatious smile. "I swear, sir, I know not why I consented to dance with you. You are naught but a trouble-maker."

"How so, my lady?" asked Legolas in mock consternation.

"I seem to have had nothing but explanations for the last few days, Prince Thranduilion," said Arwen lightly. "With my son about his father and your fair self. With my husband about you and me." Her smile made it clear she was not upset. They weaved through a set of advances and retreats around an imaginary circle on the floor.

"Truly, my lady, I am chagrined to be such an embarrassment to you." Legolas did not look in the least chagrined. As the dance required, they flipped their long elvish locks over their shoulders, Arwen to the left and Legolas to the right, then walked two steps away from each other. Catching Arwen's eye, Aragorn winked at her. It was good to see her enjoying herself so much. She gave a little finger-wiggle back. Arwen had relished her wine that evening.

A turn back to the partner, another deep bow and curtsy, and the pavane was done, but the harpist swept immediately into a sprightly galliard. The first move was a mimed kiss to the back of the lady's hand; Legolas improvised and pressed his lips to Arwen's palm instead.

"Stop it, you flirt!" she giggled, and aimed a kick at one of his shins. He jumped neatly aside, and tried to pick up the steps of the dance, but it was a lost cause. After a couple of seconds of aimless hopping, Legolas threw back his head laughing, seized Arwen around the waist, and whirled round and round with her to the accompaniment of the joyous music instead. A circle of shining tresses sailed out around them, half dark, half fair. Laughing in sympathy and admiration, Aragorn seized his goblet, raised it in salute, and downed half the contents at once.

The next moment he was on the floor, convulsed in pain and gasping for breath.

The harpist was the first to see, and her sudden jangle sent Arwen and Legolas rushing to Aragorn's side. "Estel!" they cried with one voice, but Aragorn could not hear. He was lost in a black, stabbing, burning nightmare.

"Fetch the healer!" Arwen exclaimed, and the musician ran to do her bidding. Legolas tried in vain to still Aragorn's thrashing limbs, fearing he would hurt himself further. In a few minutes, the convulsions grew weaker, and the King's breath became ever more faint and laboured. Arwen brought a cup of water, but Aragorn was not conscious enough of his surroundings to drink.

Aereth burst in, having run all the way from the Houses of Healing, bearing a bag of all her most commonly-used remedies. "He is poisoned," said Legolas tersely as she knelt and anxiously examined the King. She shook her head. His hands were clammy and cold, his skin blue. She pushed him on to his side, and put two fingers down his throat. Aragorn retched weakly, and brought up some of the contents of his stomach.

Aereth shook her head again. "Not enough," she muttered. "Your Majesty," she said to Arwen, "would you heat some water as quickly as you can and add this herb? If he can still swallow, we may yet purge the poison from his stomach." With Legolas' help, she carefully moved her patient to the relative comfort of the padded bench and placed a cushion beneath his head.

"Will he…?" Legolas could not frame the question.

"I know not, sir. I will do all I can, but he is in the hands of the Valar." She spared a moment to pat the wrist of the white-faced Elf. "Give us a little time with the King, sir. The Lady and I will clean him up and make him more comfortable."

"Nay, I must stay," replied Legolas urgently, kneeling to stroke away the sweat now beading Aragorn's cold forehead. His hand was gently pushed away by Aereth, wielding a soft cloth for the same purpose.

"Have you training in healing, sir?"

"No," admitted Legolas.

"The room is small, and it will only be for a few minutes."

Though he could scarcely bear the thought of leaving Estel even for a moment, now was not the time for arguing. Legolas kissed Estel gently on the lips. Then, reluctantly, he went out into the hall, and leaned his head up against the cool stone wall. The guilt that wracked him was no less painful for being baseless. Somehow he should have prevented this! Somehow he should have foreseen this treachery!

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flicker of motion in the courtyard below, and heard faint footsteps running towards the castle stables. With sudden clarity he remembered Baltor noiselessly helping to clear the dishes of the evening meal; moving their wine-goblets closer to their hands. And he heard Eldarion's voice: "Baltor the winemaster… suddenly and guiltily… seemed very odd."

With a cry of fury, Legolas flung open the casement, ran cat-footed over the intervening rooftops, and leapt the last twenty feet down into the courtyard in pursuit of the villainous Baltor.

-/-/-

Aereth sat back on her heels and bowed her head. "I am truly sorry, Your Majesty. My skill is exhausted. He is gone too far."

Arwen put her hand to her mouth to hold back the weeping. There would be time for that later. "How long?" she managed to ask.

"A few hours at most," said the healer sadly. "He breathes more peacefully now, but he will not awake again."

"Would that my father were here!" exclaimed Arwen bitterly. But Elrond had sailed for the Undying Lands many years before, taking his powers of healing with him. A terrible wave of anger and desperation overtook the Queen. Her father had warned her that she would have to bear the loss of her husband, and she had long resigned herself to it. But not so soon! Not like this!

Aereth put her face in her hands, and Arwen felt a moment of compunction. "You did everything possible, Aereth," she said. "If you could not save him, then no-one could." The healer looked at her gratefully, and they wrapped their arms around each other for a moment, giving each other what comfort they could, meaningless rank forgotten.

The Queen stood up slowly, despair weighting her limbs. She went to the door, where she summoned a servant. "Send our fastest messenger to Rivendell, asking the immediate return of the princesses," she commanded. "And find Eldarion." She looked around. "Where is Legolas?" But the servant did not know.

Arwen turned back into the room and sat down beside her husband. Taking his cold hand between both of hers, she wept. There was nothing else she could do.

-/-/-

There was no-one in the stables when Legolas burst through the doors, but he heard the faint sound of hoofbeats on the cobbled way down to the lower levels. Hastily he saddled Aren, fleet of foot and worthy offspring of Arod, and rode off in the same direction.

They were outside the city's great gates before Legolas finally had proper sight of his quarry. The moon was nearing full, and he easily identified Baltor, heading panic-stricken towards the woods. Legolas smiled grimly; the winemaster, unaccustomed to hard riding, would not get far. He loosened his daggers in their sheaths, and urged Aren onwards.

Baltor left an easily-followed trail through the sparse brush under the outlying trees. Legolas was soon within hailing distance. "Halt, you wretch!" he cried. Baltor cast a terrified glance back over his shoulder at the avenging Elf, advancing upon him at full speed, hair streaming silver in the moonlight and a long knife glinting in his hand. The faithless Human spurred his horse mercilessly, no longer caring where it took him, except that it be away from Legolas.

With a whinny, the horse pulled up suddenly, and Baltor pitched violently forward over its head and into the hidden ravine beyond. Mere seconds behind, Legolas leapt from Aren to stand at the edge. His keen ears soon detected a muffled groan below. The steep descent needed considerable care, even for the sure-footed Elf.

Legolas paused near the bottom. Ithil had hidden her face behind a cloud, and he was wary of treachery from the darkness. But there was naught to hear except a painful, bubbling gasp a little to his right. He advanced carefully; as he approached the sound, the cloud withdrew and he saw clearly the blood dribbling from the mouth of the hapless Baltor, lying broken upon the rocks.

"Your life is mine, scoundrel," hissed Legolas, kneeling beside him.

The man looked up at him with hatred. "Nay, Elf," he forced out. "I am beyond your vengeance now." He heaved another difficult breath. "Just as surely as your precious Aragorn is beyond help." He gasped again. "We have seen to that."

Legolas paled. "Tell me the names of your accomplices," he demanded, seizing Baltor's collar and shaking him. But Baltor only gave him a ghastly smile, turned his head, and died.

Cursing loudly, Legolas flung the body aside, and scrambled back up to where Aren awaited him. "Fly, Aren!" he implored as he leapt to the saddle. "Back to Minas Tirith! Back to Estel!"

The look upon Legolas' face as he slammed into the castle stables would have terrified a stouter heart than Doric's. The stableboy scuttled hastily away into the shadows, but not quickly enough. The whole castle had been alerted to the attempt on the King's life, and there were soldiers everywhere. "Stop that boy," shouted Legolas, and Doric was immediately apprehended. "We will deal with him later!"

One of the soldiers nodded, not needing to ask why. Doric was consigned to the dungeons.

Legolas ran full-tilt up staircase after staircase, his heart full of Estel. At the door of the little withdrawing-room, he paused, suddenly not sure whether he had the courage to open it and face what might be beyond.

He pushed the door gently open. Aragorn was lying still as death. Arwen and Eldarion looked up with tearful faces. "Legolas," said Arwen brokenly. "I am glad you are here."

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

"I have failed you all," said Legolas sadly, sitting next to Arwen. Aragorn was breathing so shallowly and seemed so far away that Legolas almost feared to touch him.

"Did you catch the poisoner?" Arwen asked. She knew there was no other errand that could have dragged Legolas from Aragorn's side.

"It was Baltor. He is dead," said Legolas tersely. "And one I believe to be his accomplice is in chains. But… Arwen, I could swear I drank from Estel's cup this evening!"

"You did," said Eldarion.

Arwen nodded. "If there is blame here, 'Lasse, we all share it alike. No-one saw."

"Where is Aereth?" he asked.

"She has gone back to her other charges in the Houses of Healing. There is nothing more she can do here."

The implications of that wrote themselves vividly on Legolas' face. They fell into a heavy silence.

For two hours, Eldarion kept vigil with his mother and Legolas next to the inert figure of his father. Eventually, with annoyance and embarrassment, he found himself forced to mutter his excuses and leave the room to relieve himself.

The solitude was a welcome respite, Eldarion discovered guiltily, and he prolonged it a little by wandering into his parents' bedroom. Joyous memories of his father abounded in here. There in the corner was the little desk where Aragorn worked on the most secret matters of state, and had suffered his small son to sit on his knee and play with the wax for the seals. There was the long, shiny glass before which the King was robed for ceremonies, joking all the while with Eldarion that the costume was heavier and far less comfortable than armour. There was the enormous four-poster bed onto which he had bounded happily every morning as a toddler to share his parents' break-fast. And here near the little cupboard, Aragorn had first shown Eldarion _athelas_ and how it was used, impressing upon him the enormous responsibilities of using it wisely.

"_Athelas_," murmured Eldarion to himself, and reached into the cupboard to pull out the leaves that had been stored there for emergencies. When Aragorn had first demonstrated how to crush the leaf and release the sweet, healing scent, Eldarion's young fingers had produced only the faintest aroma from the plant, though Aragorn had smiled broadly even at that, and pronounced that he had never had the slightest doubt that Eldarion was his true heir in every way, and would have the use of athelas when he in his turn was King. He had sung the old doggerel rhyme to Eldarion then:

_When the black breath blows  
and death's shadow grows  
and all lights pass  
come athelas! come athelas!  
Life to the dying  
In the King's hand lying!_

"It is no light thing to use this herb, my son," he had said. "Truly it is only to bring life to the dying, and only when all other remedies have failed. The Valar in their wisdom have given this power only to one Man at a time, and it is as heavy a burden as it is a great gift."

Eldarion looked at the leaves in his hand, and wondered bitterly whether their real powers would come to him only when the one person he wished to save was gone, making him King. He bruised one of the stems between two fingers, and a faint but discernible scent, more than he had ever managed to make before, arose to his nostrils.

Breathing hope for the first time that dreadful day, Eldarion ran hastily back to his father. Arwen saw the leaves in his hand and blanched.

"At least let me try the _athelas_!" Eldarion begged Arwen, keeping his voice low for the dying man's sake, though his agitation was real. "I know I am no King, but how can it harm him?"

Arwen caressed her son's hair, not knowing how to tell him that the harm she feared was not for Estel but for Eldarion, living the rest of his life with a burden of guilt for not having been able to save his father. _Athelas_ worked for the King and only for the King; the Valar knew they had tried often enough to find some way to extend its powers to others when Estel first came to the throne. She looked to Legolas for help.

"Let him try, Arwen," Legolas said. "Even though it is but the faintest hope, let him try."

She acquiesced reluctantly. How could she not? Seizing the bowl she had brought for Aereth earlier, she emptied it, refilled it from the ewer, and set it over the fire to heat a little. When she brought it back to him, Eldarion took a deep breath and began.

Laying an _athelas_ leaf on each of his palms as he had been taught, the heir to Gondor breathed upon them, then crushed the leaves and threw them into the water. "That's it," murmured Arwen, recognizing the aroma. "That's it."

Eldarion leaned forward hesitantly to his father's unmoving face and placed a hand gently on his brow. "Father!" he called.

It was dark, so dark, and Eldarion was plunging, falling, into the blackness, unable to hear his own panicked cries for help. He thrashed wildly, trying to find anything at all to hold on to, and eventually became aware of his mother's face against his, and her arms around him. He looked up through his tears and realized he still sat in the little withdrawing room.

"I cannot, mother, I cannot do it," he sobbed. "It is all darkness, and he is not there."

Arwen concentrated on soothing him for a little while, but she had seen something: a tiny twitch at the corner of Aragorn's mouth as Eldarion had plunged into his nightmare. "I have an idea," she said. Legolas and Eldarion looked at her expectantly. "Perhaps Estel can help you."

She took two fresh leaves of _athelas_ and placed them in her son's palms, and he breathed on them obediently. Then she brought Eldarion's hands to his father's mouth, so that Aragorn's faint breath wafted over them as well. She reached for one of Aragorn's limp arms. Understanding, Legolas brought the other up as well, and together, they clasped Aragorn's hands around his son's as Eldarion's tense grasp crushed the leaves within. "Father?" said Eldarion uncertainly.

He was in the blackness again, alone, but this time there was no falling and no panic, though he could see nothing, and feel nothing except ground beneath his feet. All at once, he was enveloped in a familiar warm and comfortable sensation. "Mama," he blurted, instinctively using the baby name.

"Yes, 'Dar, I'm here," he heard her say, and felt her taking his hand. "I found you by thinking of you."

"Is Legolas here too?"

"Let us try to find out." And Eldarion dutifully summoned up an image in his mind of the warrior Elf. Within seconds, he felt a presence just a little further away than his mother's, full of strength and virtuous purpose, calm and gentle, but unshakeable. "Noble" was the word that sprang to his mind, and nearly to his lips. He felt fortified, supported, by the Elf's presence.

"'Lasse," he heard his mother say in welcome, her warmth growing and spreading. "Can you see aught? Is there any clue which way we should go?"

"There is a tiny glimmer yonder," said Legolas. Eldarion saw nothing, but he moved with them blindly, knowing his mother would hold them together as Legolas pursued the light only his keen eyes could see.

Eventually, Eldarion too began to see faint shapes around him, tree-like, as if he were in a forest, and the ground grew uneven under foot. As the light grew, and the shapes grew more distinct, he heard his mother say, "'Lasse, I think I know this place!"

"I also," said Legolas. "It is in the forest here in Gondor."

"Nay," said Arwen. "Imladris."

"But see the white birch," they both exclaimed, almost in unison. And then Eldarion saw them turn to each other and laugh a little.

"Both together," said Legolas, smiling. "How like him."

Eldarion frowned a little at being left out of the joke, whatever it was, but he entirely forgot about it as they came fully into a sunlit clearing and saw his father.

A small, quiet pool was at the centre of the clearing, and Aragorn lay propped on his elbows at the edge, gazing at his reflection. As they watched, he reached his hand contemplatively into the water and shattered his own image. The water quieted, and they saw him consider his own face again, then once again ruffle the surface. This time as the picture reassembled, the King was flanked by two tall elves.

"I had hoped I might see both of you at the end," said Aragorn softly.

"Must it be the end, Estel?" asked Legolas, crouching down beside him as Arwen did the same on the other side.

"Will you not come back to us, _melethron_?" asked Arwen.

"It is not possible," said Aragorn. "My body is riddled through and through with the poison; it cannot be expelled. It is time for me to journey onwards. It is enough that I was granted this illusion of you both to soothe my way."

"It is no illusion, Estel," said Legolas. "Eldarion has brought us to you with _athelas_, and with _athelas_ you can expel the poison and return to us, if you are willing."

Aragorn had not looked up from the pool this whole time. Now he drew his hand through the reflections again, saying, "Do you know what you ask of me?"

"Aye," said Legolas. "It will be painful and terrible. I do not deny it."

"But we will be with you, my love," said Arwen. "You will not struggle alone."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "I tried to come back to you, I really did. Tried and tried. But even with _athelas_ I am not sure I have the strength," he said. "It may avail me naught."

"Please, Father," said a voice from directly behind him, and for the first time Aragorn drew his eyes from the pool. He turned and looked at his son. "Please. I am not ready to be King yet."

Aragorn looked at each of the three beloved faces for long moments. Then, visibly steeling himself, he held out his hands to their clasp. "I will strive once more," he said finally. "With your aid, I will seek life again."

Eldarion started as he found himself once again beside his father's sickbed, hands still clutched around the athelas. But before he even had time to wonder whether it had all been real, Aragorn heaved and began to retch violently.

"Run and fetch Aereth," Arwen said quickly to her son. "It has begun."

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

For the next forty-eight hours, the world narrowed to just four walls and five people. Eldarion's main task was to keep the air saturated with the healing scent of athelas, with the sometimes unconscious aid of his father's hands. Aereth watched her patient carefully for any signs that his limited strength might be failing, but she wisely forbore trying any of her lesser remedies to ease his pain, fearing that they might interfere with the mighty work of the athelas. At Arwen's request, Legolas had borne his King to a bedroom, not the one with the towering royal four-poster, but a light and spacious room where it would be easier to nurse him. And at their own insistence, Arwen and Legolas bore the lion's share of the nursing, dirty, difficult and distressing though it was.

In the centre of it all, Aragorn's body strove with all its might to eject the poison so he might return to them. It was a fearful thing to behold. Though his attendants persistently coaxed sugared water down his throat, his stomach and bowels violently and repeatedly rejected their contents, straining every muscle. This was followed by spells of exhausted unconsciousness. Within minutes of his first convulsive awakening, Aragorn was fevered, alternately sweating profusely and shuddering with cold despite piled-on blankets. Arwen swore that the very breath he exhaled was palpably tainted by the poison.

As the hours wore on, Legolas and Arwen grew more afraid for Aragorn's life. Each time he awakened he was visibly weaker and in greater pain. Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the King's fragile sleep, Legolas asked the healer, "Should we not stop the _athelas_ for a little? I fear he cannot suffer this much longer."

Aereth put her fingers to the King's neck and listened again to the sounds of his breathing. "He is strong," she replied quietly, "and the herb is doing its work most potently."

As Legolas looked at him in concern, Aragorn opened his eyes, fully returned his gaze, and croaked through his battered throat, "Do not stop." It was the first he had spoken. He would have said more, but the effort of the words caused a convulsion of coughing.

They did not stop. Though the fever did not abate, Aereth noted with satisfaction that the King was eventually able to accept the sugared water, and his condition was much improved by it. He was quieter and his heart beat less quickly. She gathered her three helpers. "He will sleep soon," she said. "And you need sleep too."

"Nay," said Arwen, who was nearly asleep on her feet as it was, after two days without rest. "I can… not." Knowing she would not be brought to leave the room, Legolas steered her to the couch and smiled tenderly as she fell into slumber before her head met the cushions. Had he been mortal, he had no doubt he would have succumbed to weariness long before she had. He raised one of her hands gently to his lips. Eldarion watched this through his own haze of exhaustion, neither resenting nor even wondering at it.

"And you, my right hand," said Aereth to Eldarion. "I have two more tasks for you." Eldarion forced himself to pay attention. "First, seek out Faramir and tell him his men can stand down from gathering _athelas_." Her lips quirked. "They must have brought us every shoot of it that grew within fifteen miles of the castle, not to mention half the other plants of the forest." She indicated the rows of baskets that had been noiselessly handed in the door by the anxious Steward. "And second, go to your bed and sleep. The _athelas_ is thick in the air now and I would have it dissipate a little while the King rests. I will call you when I need you again."

Eldarion made to protest, but Legolas took him kindly by the arm. "There is no dishonour in resting when the opportunity arises, so that you may serve again," he told him. "You have done bravely." Legolas gripped the young man's shoulder in a warrior's salute. Eyes wide, Eldarion hesitantly returned the salute, and was rewarded by a smile that lit up the Elf's face. "Go now," urged Legolas gently, and Eldarion did as he was told.

Aereth was at her patient's bedside, cooling his forehead with a damp cloth. He was lost in a fever-dream. Legolas sat at the other side and took a hot hand in one of his own, intertwining their fingers. He quirked an eyebrow at Aereth. "You, of course, do not require sleep at all," he remarked dryly.

Aereth smiled back at him. She had come to like the calm, gentle Elf very much over the last two days. "I could use a little nap," she admitted. "If you wouldn't mind keeping him cool, I might curl up over there next to Arwen for half an hour or so." Legolas answered by taking the cloth out of her hand and making shooing motions. "Yes, of course I will call you," he answered before she could ask.

After a fair while, Aragorn pushed the wet cloth irritably aside and opened his eyes.

"'Lasse," he croaked.

"Yes, Estel," replied Legolas, pleased to be recognized, though he wondered how clearly his friend could be thinking.

"Need to sit up a bit. Can't breathe properly."

Legolas looked around for more pillows and, finding none, simply substituted himself for those that were there. He sat himself against the headboard, slid a leg on either side of the unnaturally hot and sweaty body, and eased Aragorn's head back against his chest. "You will need a proper bath as soon as Aereth gives the word," he teased quietly, and resumed his mopping.

"Stop that!" responded the King in an annoyed whisper. "I need your help."

"What do you wish me to do for you, Estel?"

"The poison."

"Do you want me to call Eldarion? More _athelas_?"

"No, no." Aragorn seemed irritated at Legolas' slow understanding. "There is still some poison in me. In my bones. I need your help."

"How, _melethron_?"

"Squeeze. Squeeze it out of my bones."

Legolas bit his lip and considered this perfect piece of fever-logic. And then, reasoning that it could do no harm, he wrapped his arms gently around Aragorn and hugged him.

"Harder," Aragorn whispered impatiently. Legolas tightened his arms and brought his knees up so he had Aragorn cocooned, painfully aware of his fragility. "Harder," urged Aragorn again, and Legolas brought his cheek down to rest against the King's head, rocking him a little as he increased the pressure. Aragorn seemed to writhe a little against the constriction, but still he insisted, "Harder!"

For several minutes they stayed that way, rocking slightly together, until Legolas decided he would have to let go before he damaged Aragorn. Just at that moment, Aragorn turned his head and Legolas felt a soft kiss against his arm. "You did it," muttered Aragorn with a little smile, and all of a sudden his tense body went limp and he fell asleep. Legolas looked down at him in bemusement, and pushed a lock of sweat-drenched hair out of his face.

"Aereth," he called as quietly as he could, not wishing to move. Arwen stirred and woke the healer. The two women came to the bedside together, sensing that something momentous had happened. For a second, seeing how peacefully Estel lay against 'Lasse's shoulder, Arwen feared the worst. Then Aereth put her hand on the King's brow, and her surprise registered clearly on her face.

"Fever's broken," she told them. "How did you manage that, you clever Elf?"

Legolas shook his head. "He has a most powerful mind," he said simply.

Before evening came, the entire town was rejoicing in the news that King Elessar Telcontar would recover.

-/-/-

In his dungeon cell, the stable-boy Doric sat and sobbed in relief. He was alive, and would remain so. The Lady had been merciful.

"Quiet, you!" shouted the guard impatiently, but even he seemed less brutal, less formidable than he had a little while before, when he had come to take the boy to his trial. By that point, after two days in the dungeon, ignored except for occasional threats and glares, and some cursory nourishment grudgingly thrust through the bars in the heavy iron door, Doric was thoroughly cowed. In his utter ignorance, he had no notion whether he would be granted a trial or not, and he was sure that if he had one, he would not survive the day.

It had been a long and difficult trudge up to the Hall of Justice, hurried along by the guard and tripping over his chains. In his long hours of captivity, he had speculated fearfully about who would pronounce his sentence: whether it would be the Lord Faramir, or the Captain of the Guard, or perhaps even - once Doric realized the poisoning had failed - the King himself, in righteous anger from his sickbed. But nothing had prepared him for the moment when he was thrust forward through the huge doors of the Hall of Justice and found himself in the presence of Queen Arwen.

She was tall and serene, and almost overpoweringly beautiful. Doric could not look at her, but hung his head immediately. "Come forward, boy," she said in a chilly voice. He stumbled to the foot of the dais stairs and knelt by instinct.

"What is your name?"

"Doric, Your Majesty," he mumbled.

"Look at me, Doric."

Once he found the courage to look in her eyes, Doric could look nowhere else. It was as if she had him trapped like an insect in a web.

"They tell me you took part in a treasonous plot to poison the King, Doric. Is it true?" Her voice was still cold and level.

Doric's face crumpled. He was afraid to admit it, but even more afraid to lie to this Elvish Lady, who could surely read his mind and see all his guilt.

"I am so, so sorry, my Lady," he blurted tearfully. "My Master said he would surely beat me to death if I did not help Ba… if I did not do everything I was told. Please, ma'am, he is fearsome, he always hurts me…"

Arwen beckoned Faramir over from the desk nearby where he was taking notes. The Hall was empty and echoed as Faramir walked the short distance across the dais, bringing his chair, his quill and his book.

"Tell us everything that you did, Doric; all the details. Every place and time, every name, every conversation you remember. It is the only way you can begin to make amends." Though the words were laced with ice, hope flared in Doric's chest.

And so, kneeling at her feet, his eyes fixed on hers, Doric eagerly told all. Only at the end, when he spoke of his Master's final orders to end Aragorn's life at once, did the Queen's impassive mask slip for a second, and the flash of bitter rage in those dark eyes made Doric fervently wish to be buried deep beneath the ground at that moment.

"I have all I need, Your Majesty," said Faramir.

She nodded. "Send out the guard at once, then, good friend. Now that we know whom we seek, I doubt he will escape them long." Faramir went to the door and conferred with the Captain of the Guard, who had been not so patiently awaiting this moment.

In the meantime, Arwen paced the dais, skirts swishing angrily behind her as she turned and turned again. Doric knelt apprehensively, head bowed, making himself as insignificant as possible.

"What did you do before you joined your Master's service?"

The unexpected question startled Doric. "I… I … I was but a young child, your Majesty."

"Was your father teaching you his trade?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. He was a blacksmith, but he is dead now."

Arwen pursed her lips for a brief moment. Then she seated herself on the Throne once more, and nodded to Faramir, who had returned to his desk.

"Stand, Doric, and hear your sentence."

Doric pulled himself trembling to his feet.

"You will abide in the castle dungeon for two weeks more, Doric, and when your Master is brought to trial, as he most assuredly will be, you will repeat for all the world the testimony you have given here. After that…"

Doric took a sharp breath.

"After that, you will betake yourself to the shop of Eluran on the third level, where you will be indentured for seven years as his apprentice. He is a jewel-smith of the first order, direct descendant of the Mirdain elves. Do you know who the Mirdain were, Doric?"

He shook his head numbly. Apprenticed to an Elf?

"You will learn this and many other, wonderful things from Eluran, I assure you. I advise you to learn all you can. If your hands have the slightest cunning, he will uncover it. And at the end of your indenture you will bring the best thing you have made - be it sword or salver, ring or mithril mail - to this palace, and give it freely to my Lord the King, in token of your repentance for what you have done."

Doric's eyes widened as he realized the gift he had been given - a sharp-edged gift, to be sure, but an enormous one. He dropped to his knees and seized the hem of the Lady's skirt to kiss it. She pulled sharply away.

"Take him away," she said to the guard. And Doric would never know how she wept on Faramir's shoulder, choking out, "He's barely older than Eldarion!" once the huge Hall door clanged shut.

Back in his cell, Doric sobbed a little while in pure relief, then tried to sleep. But it was only a few hours before there was an enormous commotion in the dank stone passageways outside. Gripping tightly to the bars, the boy heard the voice he had come to fear more than any other in his short life, loudly and arrogantly cursing; declaring vengeance upon Aragorn and all his minions, and most particularly on the lowly scum who had betrayed him. And though he knew he was safe, protected, locked away here in his cell, no reason could override the effect of that voice. Nausea curled in his stomach, and Doric knelt in the corner of his cell and vomited in fear.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

King Elessar sat upon his throne, and only a few cushions attested to the weakness and pain he still felt. On the throne to his right was his Queen, and standing at his left shoulder was Legolas. All the nobles and prominent citizens of Gondor were assembled around the perimeter of the Great Hall that bright summer morning.

"Bring forth your prisoner," said Elessar grimly. A loud murmur went around as the captive, young, tall and grey-eyed, shook off the restraining hands of the guard and strode forward to face the King.

"Imralion," murmured Legolas. "It cannot be." The young man's late father, Prince Imrahil, had been one of Aragorn's staunchest allies, standing with him through the darkest moments in the defence of Gondor and the campaign against Sauron.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the young man said boldly, "I, Prince Imralion, ruler of Dol Amroth, and last true-hearted heir to the line of the Stewards, denounce you as a false, corrupt usurper, and challenge you to yield your throne, or else defend it in mortal combat." An unbelieving murmur ran around the hall. Aragorn felt Legolas' hand grip his shoulder tightly. Faramir blanched in shock and anger, but a glance from his King stilled him.

Elessar replied with dignity, "Imralion, Prince of Dol Amroth, you dishonour your gracious father with your words. In this very hall, some twenty years ago, Faramir, the most true and loyal heir of the noble line of Stewards did yield his white rod of office to me, acknowledging me the rightful King of Gondor. And on that same day, your father Prince Imrahil, bravest of knights and dear friend to all who strove against the terror of Sauron, knelt with his hands in mine and pledged his allegiance, for his own part and for the fiefdom of Belfalas, to me and to this Crown of Gondor I wear."

"Then they were fools, sir, for you are no King!" the youth exclaimed, and only Elessar's raised hand prevented the guard from smiting him for the insult.

"How comes it thus, Imralion?" asked the King, attempting to reason with him. "This is not how you were taught by your father..."

"Always my father!" the young man said. "My father, who was a Man and proud, who went to the Wars and came back with strange and terrible ideas, who welcomed in the Elvish rabble where none had been for thousands of years -" he shot a malign glance at Arwen and Legolas - "Truly, 'twould have been better had my father perished in those Wars of yours!"

Faramir shook his head, and before he could stop himself, blurted out, "Surely, lad, you cannot look in the glass without seeing you yourself have Elven blood..."

A maddened look came into the young man's eyes at that. "Lies," he hissed. "Old women's tales. My blood is pure." He focused his gaze on Elessar. "And I say to you again, corrupt Pretender, that I challenge you to defend your throne with your body."

The King took a deep breath. "It is your right so to challenge," he acknowledged, "by long custom of this realm."

"Nay, my Lord," burst out Legolas. "He has no rights - he forfeited them all by his dastardly attempts to murder you with poison!"

Imralion showed no surprise at the accusation, but simply smiled. "You can produce no evidence of that."

"We have the sworn confession of your accomplice!"

"Extracted under torture, no doubt. Will you take the word of a craven minion over that of a Prince? Face me with this most trustworthy and reliable accuser!"

The stable-lad was brought forward, still in chains. "Ah, Doric," said Imralion loftily, "I thought it might be you." The lad cringed.

"Tell the court assembled here what you have already told us, Doric," encouraged Elessar mildly. The boy looked back and forth between the King and his cruel former master, and was paralyzed in fear. His mouth opened, but he could not speak nor breathe, and after a long moment, he swooned to the floor. Imralion sneered as the lad was carried out.

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that his life lay entirely in the other man's hands, the haughty Prince said again, "I will have your answer, Aragorn son of Arathorn."

Elessar's eyes narrowed slightly. "Very well," he said. "I accept your challenge to trial by mortal combat, son of Imrahil." Another murmur went round the hall. "Light more torches that all may be seen to be done well, and spread reeds on the floor that it may not become sticky or slippery." In disbelief, the King's servants did his bidding.

The King straightened slightly in his chair. Behind him he could hear Legolas breathing fast and fidgeting like a stallion held in check from the chase. He addressed the Prince again. "I have had... some bodily weakness of late. I will therefore choose a champion to fight on my behalf." He smiled at Imralion's startled look. "As is my right. Legolas, stand forth."

"Thank you, Estel." It was a whisper, but the King heard it.

Imralion gave the Elf's slender form a disdainful look. "You make my task too easy, son of Arathorn!" he sneered.

Legolas ignored him and dropped to one knee before the King for the ritual words. And Elessar asked him, "Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood, do you freely and fairly take upon you this challenge, to defend my person, my honour and my realm in this combat, though it be to the very death?"

And Legolas replied with great love in his eyes, "Aye, my Lord, I do."

And he rested his forehead for a moment on their clasped hands, as the King leaned forward to whisper, "His father was ever weakest on the left-hand side."

"Let us hope his father taught him to fight, then," whispered back Legolas.

As Legolas made to rise, the Lady Arwen turned to him, unclasping the Evenstar from her neck. "Wear this as our favour," she said, clasping it around his.

"It is my honour to do so, my Lady," he replied, tucking it safely into his tunic. And he swung round to face his foe.

They had given Imralion back his long, flat broadsword, but neither wore armour of any kind. It would not be a lengthy fight. Legolas waved aside the offers of others' swords, and drew out his twin daggers, slender and deadly like the Elf himself. For a long moment they stared at each other across the rush-strewn floor, the ageless Elf seeming suddenly younger than the Man with the hate-filled heart.

"Begin," said Elessar.

They circled warily, coming closer and each trying abrupt feints to test the other. Of a sudden, Imralion lost patience and crying aloud, swept his deadly weapon straight at the other's torso. Legolas jumped nimbly aside, ducking as the stroke carried through above his head. The Elf grinned and beckoned the Prince on, tapping the sword mockingly with each slim blade before falling back into a defensive position. Several more times the Prince swung with massive, futile force before they found themselves in a corner, Legolas' two blades crossed and locked underneath the descending sword.

Breathing more heavily, Legolas realized too late he had miscalculated the space behind him. A novice's mistake, he told himself irritably as the sheer weight of the sword and the man behind it bore him inexorably to the ground.

Aragorn's hand tightened around Arwen's as Imralion brought his sword's point to Legolas' throat.

The Elf took advantage of Imralion's predictable moment of exultation to swing one of his daggers up behind the gloating man's unprotected calf and inflict a stinging wound. As the Human leapt in response, Legolas rolled beneath him and regained his feet.

Legolas no longer played a game. He had tried to distance himself at first, casually admiring the young man's courage while deploring his madness, but now he could see only the villain who had poisoned Estel. Methodically, he drew and then avoided the other's blows, noting his patterns, discovering as they had suspected that Imralion protected his left side less than his right. Moving abruptly inside the Prince's guard, he slammed into his enemy's sword-arm and the sword skittered across the floor. Half a second later, Legolas had Imralion immobilized on the floor, a dagger at his neck.

"Yield," said the Elf, loudly enough for the assembled company to hear. "Elessar is a merciful King."

Imralion twisted his lips and spat full in Legolas' face.

The Elf ignored the spittle, but his eyes became a chillier blue. "You have made your choice," he said shortly. He rose, retrieved Imralion's sword and threw it to the startled man. "Defend yourself."

And then Imralion of Dol Amroth truly learned what it was to face an Elf at the height of battle-fury. Desperately he parried and struck with all the skill at his command, yet he could not seem to avert the gleaming daggers flashing in his eyes and gashing at the tender flesh of his limbs. Eventually, driven by pain and despair, he raised his sword with both hands above his head to strike down his tormentor. Then, with a whimper of surprise, he crumpled and fell, sliding down and off the long slim knife which had impaled him through the heart.

Legolas did not so much as look down upon the body of his foe. Calmly, he wiped off his knives and resheathed them, then picked up his enemy's sword and presented it to the King, who accepted it and set it aside. And Elessar stood, a little shakily, to greet his champion, but the caresses and kisses he would have showered upon him were prevented by the fearsome light of battle still in Legolas' eye. Instead, the King bowed to him in the Gondorian manner, hands upon chest, and said simply, "I thank you, _gwador_." Legolas merely nodded.

And Legolas went to give the Evenstar back to the Lady Arwen, but she stayed him with her hand. "I pray you keep it, noble Prince of Mirkwood," she said; "it is but small return for the great gift you have given this day to us." For Arwen knew, perhaps even better than the King, the cost of this day's doings to Legolas' loving spirit.

_An excerpt from the __Chronicles of the Fourth Age__, Liber VII, folio 36:_

Then the body of Imralion, last of the Princes of Dol Amroth, was carried off to lie with his kin in the rebuilt House of the Stewards, for Elessar would suffer no indignity to be done to his corpse.

And the King turned to the Queen and said, "My wife, think you this is the time?"

And she replied, "I can think of no better."

So Elessar called Legolas forth once more and the King stood a step higher than his Champion, with one hand on his shoulder, and proclaimed thus to the assembled court:

_Be it known to all here assembled, and to all our Kingdom, that forasmuch as Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, has rendered this Kingdom great and signal service, and forasmuch as he has thereby grown dear to our heart and close to our counsels, we hereby this day name and proclaim the aforesaid Legolas Thranduilion our Vice-Roy, to have and hold power over all matters pertaining to this Kingdom as long as our reign shall continue, subject only to Ourself and to our Queen, the Lady Arwen. And we do most earnestly request and require each of you, our loyal subjects, to yield him the same obedience, faith and allegiance that you grant to your King, for indeed he shall be as our Will, our Voice, and our Grace amongst ye._

And a great cheering went up amongst the nobles, for it was seen that this high honour was well-deserved, and none begrudged it.

Then stepped forth Eldarion, son of the King, and said, smiling, "Wilt sit, my Lord Vice-Roy, and receive our homage?" And they brought another throne, placing it to the left of the King, and Legolas Thranduilion was seated thereon. And the first to kneel and pay him homage, promising him obedience for all the days of the reign of King Elessar, was Eldarion.

Legolas looked down at the young man's earnest face and said, "Truly, you trust me this much?"

And Eldarion said, "Yes, for I have seen your heart."

-/-/-

Aragorn knocked at Legolas' bedchamber door, and receiving a muttered answer, entered.

Legolas stood at the window with his back to Aragorn.

"What ails thee, melethron?"

Legolas stared out the window. "Faithless, murdering, stupid, cruel, treacherous... child!" he burst out, practically choking on the last word. And Aragorn knew he spoke of Imralion. The Elf spun around suddenly. "There has been too much of treachery, my King," he said. "Let me renew my allegiance to you."

Aragorn began, "'Lasse, if there were ever anything less necess..." Then he understood. "As you renewed your allegiance at Helm's Deep?"

"Aye," said Legolas, clenching his teeth.

Aragorn smiled slightly. "Then let it be so."

"Think you that you can withstand me, Human?" challenged the Elf.

Aragorn lifted his chin. "Think you I cannot?"

Legolas wasted no more words, but strode forward and seized both of the King's hands in a painful grip, backing him towards the bed. Once there, Aragorn patiently bore the rough removal of his clothes, and when Legolas released him to remove his own, Aragorn settled himself back on his elbows, awaiting the onslaught.

That onslaught came first in the form of long Elven fingers, mercifully coated in bow-grease. Aragorn's head dropped back as he was invaded with crude and purposeful vigour. "So you serve me, do you, Prince Thranduilion?" he ground out between his teeth.

"Aye, my Lord, I do," responded Legolas in a voice nearly as strained.

"For now only?"

"Nay, my Liege. Now and every day of your mortal life." The avowal was intense to the point of acrimony. The fingers withdrew and Aragorn was bodily lifted onto heated thighs.

Aragorn raised his head and met Legolas' stormy gaze. "And how would you serve me this day, my Elf?"

"Thus!" cried Legolas, and drove into his King with a single thrust. Aragorn fell backwards as his hands were seized again in the painful grasp. Their eyes remained locked.

"And thus!" uttered Legolas again. "And thus! And thus!" It was near chanting. A wild heat overtook Aragorn's loins, and now he gave back force for force, building the unbearable pleasure.

For this allegiance that Legolas avowed to Aragorn, Elf to mortal Man, was allegiance that far outweighed any loyalty of subject to King, of ruled to ruler. It was the willing submission of strength to strength, even when that submission caused terrible sacrifice. Only once before, as he surveyed the devastation of his people at Helm's Deep, had Legolas turned to Aragorn and demanded acknowledgment of that bone-deep devotion. And Aragorn, feeling the sublime strength pounding into him, given to him, though even now (he knew) held in check, opened himself wider in gratitude and love, gave back all he could, though it was not enough - no, never could be nearly enough - to acknowledge all that his Elf gave him.

Anon they both flew fierce like eagles high above the world of men.

Legolas' head drooped, and the heaving breast of his King was dampened with unacknowledged tears. After a short time, Aragorn lifted the elf's head, meeting the wet, still angry gaze once more.

"He had Elven blood," murmured Legolas. "I have become nearly as bad as a Kin-slayer."

"Mine. You are mine," Aragorn said firmly. "You serve me. You have no choice."

"Aye," said Legolas bitterly, and then once again, but more softly, "Aye."

"You had no choice," the King soothed him.

Then Aragorn kissed him on the lips, and held him close for a long while as they grieved for the folly of Imralion, last, twisted scion of a once-noble house.

---

In a few days, there was a great celebration at Minas Tirith, with much feasting, drinking and music. Even King Elessar got up to dance, to many cheers; no-one cared that he trod on toes and forgot the steps.

Men say that later that evening, Arwen and Aragorn were seen, laughing merrily, at the door of the Royal Bedroom, inviting Legolas within. And the Elf did not argue.

The reign of Elessar Telcontar continued gloriously for a full hundred years thereafter. Ah, but how the three of them twisted and entwined themselves lovingly together through all that happy time - that, my friends, is a tale for another time, and a better chronicler than I.

_finis_


End file.
